


For All The Moments Between

by onlyfrequency



Series: Warden [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Amaranthine (Dragon Age), Barkspawn is immortal, F/M, Feelings, Grey Wardens, I'll be over here crying, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar War, Not enough cheese, Snippets, The Blight (Dragon Age), The Calling, all the feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 15:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 57
Words: 39,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyfrequency/pseuds/onlyfrequency
Summary: Ravens are omens of death. They should have sent the Hero of Fereldan a Griffon instead.Or, I have too many feelings about sacrificing Alistair in the Fade.Writing as I replay the series so... Slow going, no doubt. Mostly in some semblance of order.





	1. It Starts With An End

**9:41 Dragon, Kingsway**

 

> _To Her Worship, Inquisitor Trevelyn:_
> 
> _I appreciate your warning regarding Corypheus. Fortunately, my own search has taken me out of the area where the supposed magister is operating, and while I have encountered challenges of my own, they have not involved any weakness related to my Grey Warden abilities._
> 
> _As I have little useful information to offer, please accept the accompanying gifts instead. If, in my quest, I find anything that may be of use to you in your fight against Corypheus, I will send it to you immediately._
> 
> _I have also included a note of a personal nature for Warden Alistair._
> 
> _Please take care of him. Like me, he was instrumental in ending the last Blight. I trust his compassion and his strength above any other's, and I would not go through such effort to overcome our Calling only to lose him to your Inquisition._
> 
> _Yours,_  
>  _Warden-Commander Cousland of Ferelden_

* * *

As soon as she sees the raven, she knows.

She let herself have a moment to hope, but she already knows.

She knows he's not coming back.

Elissa wiped her eyes furiously, taking the scroll holder from the bird's leg and releases it before calling Barkspawn to her with a sharp whistle. With the old Mabari at her side, she steeled herself, opening the tube. The raven had carried more than one scrap of parchment, and she spread them out on the ground in front of her, glancing between them, not really reading.

  

> _Warden-Commander Cousland of Ferelden,_
> 
> _On behalf of the Inquisition, I extend my sincere apologies-_  

 

It's a hand she doesn't recognize, signed by the Ambassador to the Inquisition.

 

> _Warden-Commander, Elissa,_
> 
> _I'm sorry that I couldn't do more to help, like you both helped me. I want you to know-_  

 

It's signed by Cullen, and she bites back a sob.

  

> _Elissa,_
> 
> _I'm sorry we couldn't save Alistair-_

 

She doesn't bother with Leliana's tidy writing at all after the first line.

 

> _Warden-Commander Cousland,_
> 
> _I wish I had longer to get to know Warden Alistair-_  

 

The Inquisitor's scrawl is offered to Barkspawn as a chew toy, but even he's not interested in her sentiments.

  

> _Elissa,_
> 
> _I do not begin to imagine how you feel-_

 

She tries to laugh and it comes out as a strangled sob. She doesn't finish Morrigan's letter either.

  

> _Warden-Commander Cousland,_
> 
> _I am heading to Weisshaupt. I am proud to have known Alistair, and honoured by his sacrifice-_

 

She crumpled Hawke's letter in her fist, breathing heavily.

Pulling Barkspawn to her, she buried her face in his grey-streaked fur and screamed, tears falling thick and fast. She screamed and railed, punched the ground until her throat was raw and coated in dog hair, her hand bloody, her tears spent.

And then she turned to her anger.


	2. Glances

**9:30 Dragon, Justinian**

 

Her tent is open to the fire, as it usually is before she retires. Tired, clumsy fingers rake through her dark hair, small hisses escaping her as they catch and drag on knots and tangles. With the flames in front of her, it's hard to tell if Morrigan is still up, or where Barkspawn has gotten off to. Alistair is sitting by the fire, though, like most nights.

It should bother her, the way he watches her watch everyone else. She focuses on braiding her hair for sleep, eyes roving but always returning to the Warden. He does it often, but it's not the glazed and drunken stare she gets from Oghren. It's not the cold, impassive glare from Sten. It's not the wanton and indecent gaze she gets from Zevran. It's something she's not familiar with.

No one's ever looked at her like that before.

So it should bother her, shouldn't it? Her fingers slip, the braid unraveling, and a soft curse escapes her as she starts again. She wonders why he doesn't ever look away. During the day, when she catches him, he does. He laughs and jokes and pretends there's dirt on her face or a really interesting leaf on the ground. But at night, with the fire between them, he doesn't look away when she sits there and braids her hair.

She knows he's not watching the flames, though, can feel the weight of his gaze on her.

Leliana slips beside her, offering to help her with the braid, but it's just for sleep. It doesn't matter if it's messy. She shakes her head with a smile and glances at the Warden. He's not watching her anymore, and something clenches in her gut in the absence.

Her fingers finish their work and the redhead bids her goodnight, moving off again. She waits, and when he looks up again, she thinks she sees relief on his face when he notices she's alone again.


	3. Take Me To The Water's Edge

**9:30 Dragon, Solace**

 

He's drawn to the small pond by the sound of splashing water and a delighted shriek. Barkspawn woofed, deep and loud, shaking himself dry, soap suds flying. Alistair's breath hitches when he sees her, boots off and breeches rolled up, standing in the water, trying to defend against Barkspawn's relentless spray of water.

It's a lovely sight.

Elissa tries to get the soap off her as the mabari bounded out of the water, her smile not faltering when she caught him watching. He smiled back, shy, offering a half wave before having to duck from another assault by the hound. She _laughs_ , and it's the most amazing thing he's heard in the last week. Month? Maybe ever.

He's grinning then, and walks over to the waters edge, offering a hand. She takes it, water dripping from her and suds still in her hair. Maker take him now, it's a sin that Elissa is this _perfect_ and he'll never be able to tell her.

Because he's a coward.

Safely on shore, she wipes the water from her clothes, flicking some at him. Barkspawn bounds off, rolling in the dirt as he goes. "I don't know why I bother bathing him."

"Is that what you were doing? It looked like he was trying to drown you." She smiles. She always smiles at his stupid jokes, and it twists something in his belly. "You, uhm, have soap in your hair."

Heaving a sigh, she started to pull her hair down to run her fingers through it. "And here I was trying to avoid having to bathe myself."

"Here, sit." He's not sure why he does it, but he can't stop himself. Grabbing the bowl she had Barkspawn's soap in, he dunked it in the water. Once she's comfortable on a rock, he carefully sluices the water through the dark tresses, rinsing it free and keeping her clothes dry. She hummed appreciatively, and his stomach flipped.

He's still a coward.

But he takes the soap, working up a lather in his hands before running them through her hair. If he doesn't survive this blight, he's at least going to take this memory with him, he thinks. There's a smile flitting across her face, and her gaze is soft as he works the suds into her scalp. Alistair is nervous, suddenly, as she looks up at him, the way she's positioned giving him more than a glancing view of the curve of her body, the dip of her cleavage. Long legs and her bare feet tapping on the ground.

"Sorry," he apologises, hasty. "I bet I'm doing a terrible job. Servants everywhere will mock me."

Her smile broadens, her eyes sliding closed. "It's alright. The last time someone washed my hair for me... It was my mother."

Alistair paused, fingers stilling. This is too intimate, he's a stupid fool. He doesn't know what he was thinking. "I'm-"

"Please keep going." The words are quiet, almost pleading. He can't even imagine what she's thinking. Elissa lost her entire family in one night two months ago and barely spoke of it. But she's always there when his memories of Duncan drag him under.

He doesn't know anyone like her. The least he can do is finish, and they are quiet. He's reluctant to free his hands once he's done with the soap but needs more water. Fetching a fresh bowl he started to rinse, still careful to avoid splashing her clothes. "Do you want to talk?"

"Only if you're going to tell me where you learned how to wash a woman's hair."

Her smile is cheeky, and her eyes are on him again. Alistair shifted awkwardly. "Oh, you know. Templar training is _very_ thorough." He cast about for a towel as she giggled, and not finding one slipped his cloak off, using that to wring the water out of her hair. The oncoming night doesn't promise to be that cold, at least.

"So it seems." She lets him work for a moment, another appreciative hum escaping her as he started to rub the top of her head. "I miss them."

He almost didn't hear it, so focused on the task, her voice quiet again like she's whispering a secret. Alistair doesn't know how it feels, but he wants to help. Elissa always knows what to say when he needs it but...

Another pass of his cloak leaves her hair merely damp. She's still looking up at him, and his heart pounds, filling his ears. A deep breath. "Elissa, if you ne-"

"Here you are! No one told me we were bathing!" The moment vanishes as he turns to glare at Zevran, the assassin already stripping as he strode towards the pond.

She snorted, and his heart sinks when he sees the flush on her cheeks. He's an idiot, he knows. Of course she likes the elf, he's much more confident, much more-

She tugged his wet cloak from his hands, a soft smile as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Alistair. I'll let this dry by the fire for you." She gathered up her boots and things quickly, avoiding the now naked elf as he posed in the water.

He watched her go, fingers tracing the spot of warmth on his cheek.


	4. A Thousand Times I'll Say It

**9:30 Dragon, August**

 

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful."

Wynne laughed, the noise sweet in the evening air. It's the fifth time he's said it today, and she's about to hit him if he says it again. It's _adorable_ , the old mage tells her. Young love is something to be cherished.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Elissa knows what the night will bring, can feel it under her skin already. Does he? Does Alistair feel the itching, the slithering, the Archdemon's hiss? He sits, closer than normal, next to her at the fire for their meal, slipping chunks of meat to Barkspawn.

He feels it.

They still aren't comfortable, really, being intimate around their companions. There's hand holding, reassuring squeezes, a chaste kiss after a fraught battle, but there's still an air of uncertainty about the whole thing.

And he makes up for it with ceaseless compliments. Alistair always seems to know when she struggles, and he's there with a joke, usually self-depreciating, and an easy smile. It's harder for her to comfort him, but she wants to. She tries to.

She lets her head hit his shoulder, watching the flames dance in front of them. His breath hitches and after a minute, his hand finds her waist.

They take the first watch together, and regretfully pull apart when Sten takes over. Separate, cold bedrolls await them away from the fire.


	5. The Point Of No Return

**9:30 Dragon, ???**

 

They don't know when it happens. At some point they are simply more, and it becomes easy to sink into each others arms at the end of the day.

She starts to call him love. He starts to call her _his_.

Wynne stops teasing him quite as much. Zevran stops flirting with her. Starts flirting with both of them. Oghren doesn't let up, lewd as ever. They didn't know there _were_ that many euphamisms for sex.

He's still shy, and she doesn't push him.

They still sleep apart, but it gets harder to bid each other goodnight.


	6. Ritualistic

**9:30 Dragon, Kingsway**

 

"You are aware t'will be impossible to get rid of him now?"

She glanced at Morrigan, not sure how this conversation is going to go. They are friends, but the witch and Alistair still butt heads. Constantly. "I would think it obvious I don't want him to go anywhere."

"And when the duty you shackled yourselves to demands it?"

Flint eyes narrowed, aware she's being baited. The purpose of which still escaped her. "Then we will figure it out. Is it really so bad, Morrigan? Trying to be happy?"

The other woman paused, whatever snappy comeback she'd prepared freezing in her throat. "No, my friend. I am... glad for you."

Elissa isn't sure what to make of the way the witch looks at her.


	7. To Be All His Firsts

**9:30 Dragon, Kingsway**

 

He's not the first lover she's had, he knows.

At first, it bothered him.

But it's since become a challenge.

He's not the first, but he will be the best. He will be the only one she thinks of. His name is the only prayer she'll need, and he will bring her to new heights every time she comes to him.

And in the dark, when he's sure her breathing has shallowed and the Fade has her, his lips pressed to the crook of her neck and his arms tight around her, he practices the words he still needs to tell her.


	8. Heavy Hangs The Head

**9:30 Dragon, Harvestmere**

 

Her hand slips into his and squeezes, a gentle reminder.  _It's okay_.

His stomach rebels despite her assurances. Whatever they choose will change things. Whatever they decide, everything will be different. The hall lies ahead, through heavy wooden doors.

A throne, a crown, a wife and country.

Anora.

Sword and shield, helm, duty.

Elissa.

Void take him, it's no choice at all.


	9. Precious And Fragile Things

**9:30 Dragon, Harvestmere**

 

Pup.

Learn the bow, Pup. Learn the sword, Pup. Learn the rules, Pup. Learn to lead, Pup.

Go, Pup.

Survive, Pup.

Live.

She wants Howe's head, but she's pledged herself to this cause. She had cried, finally, late at night, her anger slipping into fear and desperation. Alistair held her tight, kissed her hard, made promises he had no right to make. Told her she was grieving wrong. Normal people get sad first. Normal people don't get angry the way she does. Normal people wallow. Normal people don't get on with saving the world.  _Maker's breath, 'Lis, you're the strongest person I know._

She loves him too much. He gives her everything he is and lets her choose.

She can't choose this for him. Won't choose this for him. He needs a home, and he is her hearts home.

"What do you want to do?"

_Tell me you want to stay,_  she hopes.  _With the Wardens._

_With me._


	10. Where The Wind Might Blow

**9:41 Dragon, ???**

**Unsent letter found in an abandoned cave, partially burned**

> _Alistair,_
> 
> _Where are you now? I wish I knew. I wish I could tell you where I am. ~~I wish~~_
> 
> _I can't sleep, love. I'm so tired._
> 
> _Tell me I'm strong enough. Tell me I can do this. Tell me it's going to work. ~~I don't believe in myself any more.~~ I need you here. I need you._


	11. I Hear You Calling In The Dead Of Night

**9:41 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

Hands rubbed raw scouring metal til it shone. Polished off the rust, the blood, the sweat. The tears.

Feet ached from a long march, a longer ride.

Fur gleamed, more silver than brown these days, but brushed to a shine. Kaddis swirled dark and fresh.

Each puff of air from her lungs coalesced and hung in front of her.

Ears ring with the sweet song calling for sleep, for submission, for servitude.

She cleans her armor until her hands bleed, and it staunches the Call.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she marches again.

Tomorrow she makes demands.


	12. Careful What You Wish For

**9:30 Dragon, Haring**

 

Fuck Morrigan.

Fuck her to the void and back.

Fuck her, fuck her ritual, fuck her friendship. Fuck. Her.

A derisive snort escaped her into the silence of the room. Alistair's room. Alistair's empty room.

Empty because she told him to go to Morrigan and-

And fuck her.

It's for the best. They'll both survive. He will survive. That's what has to matter.

But the room is empty and she's alone. The taint curdles in her blood and she wants to ask him if he feels it too. But she can't, because Morrigan gave her hope and now-

Fuck. Her.

She needs him, shaking hands fisting in the bed covers. She needs him to tell her it's going to be alright. It's just an archdemon, after all. It's just the only thing between them and ending the Blight. He'd have the perfect joke for this situation.

And she doesn't get to hear it because she told him to go to Morrigan.

It will be worth it. It _has_ to be worth it.

But oh, it hurts.


	13. Lay Her Down

**9.34 Dragon, Cloudreach**

 

He liked the office. With the keep finally feeling like home, he found himself drawn to this room more than any other. Well, after the cheese storeroom, anyway. She'd started insisting it be locked and he wasn't allowed a copy of the key, much to his chagrin.

But the office, he liked. It was warm and cosy, a fire always burning in the hearth when the weather called for it. Plush chairs to recline in placed just the right distance from the flames to be toasty but not melt. Bookcases, floor to ceiling, filled with tomes and trinkets took up most of the walls, and a large window behind the desk offered a breathtaking view of the mountains and coastline. The door he'd just passed through led from the main corridor, placing the office in an easy to reach location for anyone who needed to find the Warden-Commander, and the second door off to the left lead to her private quarters. _Their_ private quarters, not that he used them much, even now.

She was standing over her desk, thumbing through papers, and had shot him a dazzling smile when he entered that left him quite unable to remember why he'd come in the first place, so he stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, staring at the way the fire turned her blue-grey eyes to golden tinted steel, the way it reflected off the Warden armor and made her sparkle.

Every day, he thought, every day there's a new thing to love about her.

She glanced over at him, another smile tugging at her lips. "Did you need something, love?"

Alistair let the door swing shut behind him and came around the desk to stand behind her, peering at the papers from over her shoulder. Requisition orders and sentry shifts caught his eye for a moment before he distracted himself by leaning against the Warden-Commander. "I heard a rumour. About us. An us-rumour."

She chuckled, low and silky, reaching back to tangle her fingers in his hair. "And what rumour would that be?"

" _Apparently_ ," he murmured, letting his hands find her waist, "we like each other. A lot."

"Do we now?" She teased, turning around to face him and leaning back against the desk.

"The recruits have been saying all sorts of things about us and-" he paused, swallowing past the lump in his throat. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, coming here, but his confidence was faltering.

Elissa laughed again, pressing a kiss to his cheek and ruffling his hair again, teasing his cowlick out of submission. "And?"

" _And_ , I was thinking- Don't laugh, I do that now and again you know- I thought maybe we could try one of those things?" His gaze dropped to the floor, then to the desk, then to her face, gauging her response, cheeks burning bright.

If she guessed his exact suggestion, she didn't let it show. "You'll have to enlighten me as to what _things_ you mean, love. But later, I have a meeting in a few minutes."

That would not do. He'd been in the barracks all week and she'd been busy and he'd finally had a chance to come to her, finally had the courage to suggest - well, he wasn't really sure _what_ exactly he was suggesting, there were a lot of options and most he would never dream of - and she was brushing him off because she had a meeting? "Remember the good old days, being chased by the Darkspawn, and sneaking in the steamy bits between battles? I miss that, shame it's not Tuesday." Flippancy to hide his disappointment seemed the best route.

"I thought Tuesday was ritual dismemberment?"

"Hah, right, of course, trust you to remember that sort of thing," he laughed nervously, wringing his hands. "But no, look, I wanted- I wanted to spend some time with you, is all."

A shadow passed over her face before she broke into a wide grin, hands moving to his neck to pull him in for a kiss. "Alistair, I'll always make time for you when you need it."

"It just feels... selfish? To pull you away from your work just so we can, _you know_ , canoodle." He smiled sheepishly, hands trailing back to her hips, lips brushing hers.

Elissa chuckled, brushing her papers aside to pull herself up on the desktop, legs wrapping around his to keep him close. "You helped me take down an Archdemon, if you want to canoodle, we canoodle." Her fingers brushed the buckles of his breastplate, eyes fixed on his brown ones. "After all, we have rumours to lend precedence to."

"Ah," he fidgeted nervously, still shy when she pushed too hard. "On- On the desk, love? That would be the height of impropriety."

"But I hear tell you enjoy bending me over it," she responded, smile wicked. "That _was_ the particular rumour you wanted to address, wasn't it?" Alistair stammered out something incoherent as his fellow Warden started undressing him, fingers more than adept at freeing him from his buckles and knots. "Impropriety be damned, love. It makes me unhappy there's more rumour than fact, and we simply must fix that."

He managed to wrest some semblance of function back to his brain and started helping her with her own armor. "I would be a fool to argue with you, 'Lis."

She chuckled against his lips as they sought hers, pulling back and holding his gaze as they heard the knock on the door. Elissa shook her head and caught Alistair's hands before he could disengage himself, and shouted at the offending Warden, "come back in an hour or two, Alistair and I have some rumours to dispell."

Andraste preserve him, he loves this woman.


	14. One Day We Won't Hurt Anymore

**9:30 Dragon, Harvestmere**

 

She takes her revenge with a blade sharper than her wit, and it rings hollow. Howe draws one last breath, _I deserved more_ , and she turns from his body, face set in stone.

He dispenses justice with an executioners sword, and a small weight is lifted. Loghain drops to the floor, _I did what needed to be done_ , and he faces the Landsmeet, expression unreadable.

After, they hold each other. Duncan is avenged, blood for blood. Her family's slaughter requited, dagger for dagger. They both know the victory is tainted like their blood. Memories are all they have left, and the cling to them like they cling to each other.

Alistair doesn't ask how it makes her feel.

Elissa doesn't ask if Duncan would be proud.

They just hold each other, understanding only what they know and feel, and hoping it's enough.


	15. It's In Your Making

**9.35 Dragon, Guardian**

 

"So... 'Lis?" He turned to look at his fellow Warden, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Not _now_ , Alistair!" Warden Jairn laughed, big and booming, clear over the clash of metal as Elissa tugged her blades free from their sheathes.

"But I was just wondering," Alistair shrugged nonchalantly, flexing his shield arm, testing the weight on it.

"Wonder _later_ ," she shot back, cuffing him on the side of his helmet as she ran past.

"But remember how Zevran used to flirt with you. Like. _All_ the time?" He wasn't letting up, and she sighed heavily, sparing him a glance.

"You really want to bring that up now? We haven't even heard from him in over a year, much less seen him."

"Yes. Yes I do." He crossed his arms stubbornly, despite the shield still gripped in his left.

"He flirted with everyone, love. Even you." Her tone was even, calm, measured, used to having the same arguments with him. Endlessly. It was easy to rile him up in return, though.

He shuddered. "Yes, but not my point. Did you ever enjoy it?"

"Really, Alistair?" She chanced another glance at the former Templar, shaking some gunk off of her blades as she did so. "Fine, I may have flirted back just to see how serious he was, but you know it was nothing more than that."

For a moment, he was proud of himself. "I _knew_ it! I mean, he was much better at it than I was. Am. I don't blame you," he petered off, scuffing the ground with his boot before bringing his sword up to block an incoming blow. The hit knocked him back a step, and he frowned in annoyance.

"He was too good at it, love. I much prefer your bumbling," she was getting a little breathless, but having your warrior decide to take a time out in the middle of the fight will tend to do that to a rogue. Elissa slipped a dagger free from her sleeve, hitting the Hurlock trying to creep up on Jairn in the neck, felling it.

"Aww, that's sweet. Can we take a time out so I can blush?"

He went down, hard, a crash of metal, the Darkspawn clearly not in agreement.

" _Alistair_!" The Warden knocked back another Hurlock, snapped the neck of another, and left one of her blades embedded in a Genlock as she raced to his side. Shaky hands slipped beneath the metal and chain of his collar to find a pulse, flint eyes assessing the dent in his chestplate from the hit. "This isn't the last conversation we ever have. Don't you _dare_ make our last conversation be about that stupid Elf."

He smiled, coughing weakly, his eyes drifting to the massing enemy and Jairn standing between them. "I know that. Do they know that? You should let them know."

Hauling him back to his feet, she flicked the side of his helmet with a cocky grin. "They're about to find out, love."


	16. Night Is The Not The Hard Part

**9:41 Dragon, Wintermarch**

**Letter found in Warden Theirin's belongings**

 

> _Alistair,_
> 
> _I'm not sure when I'll be able to write to you again. We have some promising leads, though. Barkspawn is doing well, you wouldn't know he's twelve years old, I swear. He moves like a young pup out here._
> 
> _Keep safe, love. I have been avoiding other Wardens, and I see less and less each day. I'm worried. No, I'm terrified. I dream again, the Archdemon and the hordes, Denerim on fire. Amaranthine blighted. ~~You~~ Sleep is hard without you._
> 
> _This whole thing is hard without you. I miss you more than I can ever explain._
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _Elissa_


	17. While Wandering Into My Mind

**9:30 Dragon, Solace**

 

" _Maker's breath_ , 'Lis! What are you doing?!"

Scaring him was unintentional, and she shot him a sheepish smile, hands raised in surrender. Elissa hadn't been able to hide her curiousity when Alistair had sort of but not effectively snuck away from the camp, and she had followed, wanting a moment alone with her, her- her what? Friend? Fellow Warden? Unofficial hair washer? Person she was trying very hard not to fall for? "Sorry. I'm light on my feet," she shrugged by way of apology as she moved closer, raising an eyebrow at him. "You didn't say where you were going, I was-" _Worried. Concerned. Lonely._ "-curious."

He crossed his arms defensively, taking a step back as she edged closer. "Sometimes a man just wants a few minutes alone in the woods. To do... Man things."

Her snort turned into a laugh at his lame attempt at an explanation and she shook her head, loose tendrils falling from her hasty bun. "Well far be it for me to interrupt _man things_ then."

She had already started to fade back into the woods when he called her back. "Wait!" At her amused expression he glanced aside, wringing his hands. "I'm not actually- I just wanted to think some things over."

"I understand," Elissa smiled softly, taking a step back and avoiding the obvious joke. "I'll see you back at camp."

"No, _wait_ ," he practically shouted, hands reaching for her before dropping back to his side. Alistair averted his gaze again, mumbling under his breath.

Beyond curious now, she slipped back into the clearing, watching him closely.

Glancing up, his eyes swept over her face and he sighed. "If you go back alone Morrigan will probably think I'm blubbering to myself over here and I'll never hear the end of it."

She shrugged, not sure the logic was sound, but prepared to amuse the Warden. She dropped to the grasses, legs extended in front of her as she looked up at him. "If we go back together, Oghren and Zevran are going to make insinuations, you know."

"I'll take that over Morrigan insulting me," he huffed, plopping himself at her side. "Er, if that's okay with you, I mean." He flushed slightly, visable in the pale moonlight, the colour deepening as she giggled.

Would she mind? The various labels she could use to describe the man beside her rotated through her head again and she shook her head to clear them. "They don't have to be insinuations, you know."

He started, shock on his face as he stared at her, mouth trying to stammer out something coherent. "Y-you and me?" He laughed nervously, fixing his attention on a point far, far off in the distance. "No, it's okay. Not that you're not, you know, _wonderful_ , or anything and I would love to- anyone would be lucky to be with you but I'm just this stupid bastard and a sorry excuse of a Warden, I couldn't even make it as a Templar and-"

She shut him up with a handful of grass ripped from the ground, ending his self-depreciating tirade with a soft hush. "Relax, Chantry boy." Part of her had wanted to let him ramble on, to see exactly what was potentially so unappealing about being with her, but the rest of her knew better by now that she was walking that fine line between humour and seriousness with him, and straying too far in either direction would no doubt end in heartbreak for her. She had already lost her family, her home, possibly her brother. She didn't want to lose Alistair's friendship on top of everything else. "We all know Wynne would immolate anyone that corrupted you."

"Aww, you know what though, for such a sweet old lady she's got a sordid mind. You ever hear her talking with Oghren?" He shuddered for effect, and she laughed softly, noting that he seemed less tense. Still, it bothered her, as they lapsed into silence.

Alistair was nothing if not sweet to her. And he still watched her from his side of the campfire. Was it just that he saw himself as her brother, protective and supporting? A frown settled lightly on her brow at that thought. She _had_ a brother - one she hoped with all her heart was still alive. The more time passed, the more miles they trekked, the more nights she spent under the stars it was getting harder and harder to push the notion that she wanted more from Alistair from her mind.

More than a friend. More than a fellow Warden. More than a brother. More than someone she was falling for, no matter how hard she tried.

Maker, she tried. They had a Blight to contend with, treacherous heads of state to handle, armies to help gather. Now was not the time to fall in love.

Maybe it was just because they had survived the unsurvivable together. Maybe it was all the adrenaline, all the time. Maybe she could talk Zevran into a discrete fuck out in the woods one night, get the tension off her back, out of her gut.

But no, she would never do that.

Now was not the time to dwell on _sweetness_ , on lingering looks, on the feel of his hands running through her hair. Now was not the time to keep talking, flirting with him, to try and bring that adorable smile back to his face, to draw that deep and throaty chuckle from him, to spend as much time as she could with him.

Maybe it was the way he hefted the shield, swung the sword, all muscle and skill and effortless after years of unwanted Templar training. Maybe it was the dirty blonde hair and cheeky grin and bright eyes, a deadly combination at the best of times. Maybe it was an unintended consequence of the taint running in her veins; there were so few female Wardens and none she had ever met, who was to say?

Elissa broke the silence, eventually, falling on her back to stare without seeing at the stars, picturing instead him helping her from the water that day at the pond. "You're not stupid, or a sorry excuse for anything. I couldn't do this without you."

She felt him shift beside her, edging closer. His hand brushed hers lightly, and she couldn't suppress the smile that sprung unbidden to her lips. It may not be the time, but there was no helping it.

Void take her, she was falling, hard.


	18. A Plague On Both Your Houses

**9:41 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

Her steps are heavy and determined, and her Warden armor shines brighter than the sun as she climbs the steps. She polished it until her hands were raw the night before she entered Skyhold, and the effect is everything she wanted. There are stares as she passes the denizens of the fortress; long, suspicious, fearful. But she pays them no mind, blocks out the voices, focuses on the insidious melody in her mind and the pant of Barkspawn at her side. He draws stares too, but he's trained well and follows her loyally.

Her boots ring hollow on the stone slabs and Elissa's face is stone set as she strides through the hall. Slowly, the whispers start to break through, hisses of  _Warden-Commander_  and  _Isn't that the Hero of Ferelden?_ and  _Another Warden?_  that she ignores. Her flint gaze is on the throne and she stops in front of it, standing at attention, patient. Barkspawn sits at her side, tilting his head as if listening to something she can't hear.

She doesn't have to wait long.

They are laughing, joking and friendly with each other, stirring memories of what will never be again, and then they are quiet when they see her. Part of her wishes she could see their faces in that split second of realization, but her anger simmers under the surface, and she doesn't trust herself quite yet.

It's Cullen that breaks the silence. "Warden-Commander?" He doesn't know it's her, judging by the hesitation in his voice, and she doesn't give him much more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

 

> _I want you to know how sorry I am, I know you and Alistair were close._

 

The melodic Antivan accent greets her next, apologetic. "We were not expecting any Warden visitors, were- did Weisshaupt send you?" Elissa shook her head, hand straying to the Mabari's head to steady herself.

 

> _We are grateful to the Warden Alistair for his assistance at Adamant, and will do our best to honour him as he deserves._

 

Barkspawn lifted his head to her, and Leliana gasped, followed by Morrigan's noise of disgust. " _Barkspawn_?" The old hound gave a rough bark upon hearing his name, panting softly.

 

> _I did not love Alistair, but in the end he was a dear friend, and I am greatful to him for Keiran._

 

> _I will miss him more than I could ever think possible, and know it is nothing compared to you._

 

She gives a low whistle to dismiss the Mabari, and turns, steel and flint, hard edges and cold rage. Eying the party before her; sizing up their precious Inquisitor. She offers little more than a nod of acknowledgement before watching her faithful friend sniff one of the guards. The man looks terrified, and she bites back a sharp laugh. "The one and only."

Cries of  _Elissa!_  fall from Morrigan and Leliana and the startled look on Cullen's face is almost worth the long journey back. The others - the Inquisitor, the Ambassador - take a moment longer to realize who it is standing in front of them. Then-

"Warden-Commander Cousland?"

 

> _He seemed like a good man. He spoke very fondly of you. It pains me that I have no better tidings to offer you._

 

Elissa nodded, returning her attention to the Inquisitor. Trevelyn. She wonders briefly how she looks to her old friends. Older, surely. World-weary. Stone and steel and anger.

"Inquisitor. I am here to take the Wardens you rescued at Adamant."

It's not what any of them expected to hear, she knows. Cullen shuffles awkwardly; Leliana's brow creased in the way it does when she's so rarely surprised. The Ambassador's mouth opens and shuts quickly, at a loss. Morrigan crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised. And the Inquisitor-

"No."

Elissa's voice is hard, even, practiced. "I would wager that not one of the Wardens taken in the battle at Adamant outrank me. It is my right to bring them back to the Order." She does not want the fight, but her fingers flex in anticipation.

"I'm sorry, truly I am, but we can't let you just whisk them off. They have a duty to atone for their actions at Adamant, and they will do that with the Inquisition." The woman shakes her head, firm.

Elissa has dealt with firm people before. She takes two steps forward, within striking distance, and is glad Trevelyn doesn't shrink from her. "They have a  _duty_  to the Grey Wardens. I will see to it that they atone, but they will do it under my guidance."

Something sparks in the Inquisitor's eyes - it's clear she's not used to being challenged once she decides something. "Warden-Commander, with all due respect, you weren't there. If you'd seen-"

"If I was there-" the words are sharp, acidic, threatening, "-then this conversation would be moot. Instead, you cost Alistair his life." The Inquisitor flinches as Elissa crossed her arms, and nobody misses the Warden pointedly using her lovers name, not his rank.

"Elissa," Leliana cautions, but it's too late. It was already too late when she saw the damned bird. There is little more than rage simmering in her heart.

"Don't you dare, Leliana." Her hard gaze switches to the Inquisition's Spymaster, and it's the first time most of them have seen the redhead wince. "If we were ever friends, you won't deny me this." It's clear she wants to say something, to argue, to point out that of course they were,  _are_ , friends. The harshness of Elissa's tone stops her. "You will release the Wardens to me."

Recovering, the Inquisitor laughs. "We will do no such thing." She's spirited, stepping forward. "And unless you want to join them in service to the Inquisition, I suggest you leave." She waves a hand to dismiss the Grey Warden, and Elissa strikes.

Pining the Inquisitor's arm behind her and placing a hand at the back of her neck, the Warden is ice and calm. "You are little more than a child, playing at war," she spat before aiming a kick at the back of her knee, toppling the Inquisitor. She has one of her blades at the woman's throat and the second pointing at Cullen before he can draw his sword. Barkspawn let out a low growl from behind Leliana, discouraging her from reaching for any of her hidden blades. Morrigan clenched her fists, hissing her name, and Josephine looked positively shocked at seeing the Inquisitor on her knees so quickly.

But, Elissa is a Grey Warden.  _The_  Grey Warden; Hero of Ferelden, slayer of the Archdemon Urthemiel. Ten years since the Blight, and she's only grown stronger, faster. Meaner. Harder.

Ten years, and she's just lost the last person she called family.

Elissa can see the guards unsure of how to respond, doesn't care that the gathered nobles are whispering about how  _savage_  and _corruptible_  Grey Wardens are, notes the Dwarf fingering a crossbow near the entrance of the hall.

"I am sure the loss of Warden Alistair-" Elissa dropped the blade and kicked the Inquisitor away from her before she could finish. She has no need for platitudes.

"The Wardens, by nightfall." Whistling for Barkspawn and sheathing her blades, she strode out of the hall without a glance. Stone and steel.

And the Calling, weaving its melody through her ears.


	19. I Know The Wreckage So Well

**9:37 Dragon, Cloudreach**

 

Alistair finds her on the walls, hiding her sorrow in the darkness of the midnight hour and the steady rain. His approach is soft and careful, and she loves him all the more for it.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," she admonishes gently, noting that he's still dressed for bed.

"One of the watch came to get me, 'Lis. What are you doing out here?" He reached out tentatively, letting his hand drop back to his side when she didn't turn to him.

Elissa tries to smile, she really does, but it doesn't stay in place and she's sure it just looks like she's wincing in pain with every attempt. An apt thought though, really. She ran a hand through soaked, unbound hair to distract herself. "Just thinking through some things."

It's not a lie but the words taste bitter in her mouth. She wants to tell him everything but can't bring herself to inflict the heartbreak on him, not yet. Not while it's still so fresh for her. A warm, calloused hand cups her cheek, startling her from her thoughts. She had drifted back into her misery without meaning to, and his brown eyes reflect a depthless worry.

Managing a small smile she nuzzled into his hand, hoping the rain hid the telltale tracks her tears had marked on her face from him. "It's nasty weather out tonight, love." The barest hint of pressure behind his touch urges her closer to him. "Come back inside." Her shudder as she suppresses a sob gives him all the incentive he needs to slip his hand into hers, tugging with soft insistence. "See? You're cold."

Maker bless her love. She follows obediently as if he's the Warden-Commander and she is the one following his orders, letting him keep his loose grip on her hand, drawing warmth and strength from him. Had he worried, finding the bed empty? Did he think she had been driven outside by something only she could hear? Would he have gone into the tunnels, if she had heard the Call, if she had headed down?

And how can she tell him it's a different reason the taint drove her from his side tonight?

They never talk about it. Just one time, almost an offhand comment years ago. Every time she goes to the Deep Roads she hears Hespith all over again, sees The Mother when she closes her eyes. What fate awaits her, when it is time to go finally?

Alistair gives her a gentle push towards her bathing chambers, and she's surprised to see the bath full and steaming. "I figured you would want to warm up after being outside."

He hadn't worried then, not that much. Elissa tugged him to her, pressing soft kisses to his lips. _Maker_ , bless this man. He chuckled against her, hands moving to help her with the buckles and clasps keeping her Warden plate in place, seemingly unconcerned with her silence.

She knew she should talk to him, but she was still floating in a mire of her own thoughts, and she hated to drag him down with her. He kissed her, a small and sweet thing before kneeling to work on her boots, and she shuddered again. "Don't worry, 'Lis. I'll get you warm in no time."

Oh, she loves him more than there are stars in the sky or blades of grass in the field. Taking his preoccupation with her lower half to wipe her eyes, she shed her tunic in the process to further hide the action.

His cheeky grin as she balances on his shoulders to let him pull the boots free is _everything_.

Her fingers are quick to untie her breeches and he leaves her to it, moving to stoke the fire and hang a towel near it for her when she's done. Elissa wants him to stay, almost begs as she clambers into the tub, but expects him to return to bed, to get what sleep he can while she lounges in the water. She's pleasantly surprised for the first time that day when warm hands run along her arms, chasing away the chill that had settled there from outside.

She shudders again, and this time not from grief.

Alistair pressed a kiss to her forehead and started carefully running his fingers through her hair, untangling the rain soaked mess with a gentle dedication. It almost feels like the first time he washed her dark locks, lakeside; a weird knot of emotion twisting her insides as he worked diligently at the task he set himself.

He's too good for this. Too good for life as a Warden, too good for the upbringing he suffered through, too good for her and her shame at not being able to give him more.

For some ten weeks, she had kept it to herself. Two and a half months, give or take, roughly one thousand eight hundred and twenty odd hours she had carried her secret, cherished and precious beyond belief.

That morning, she had woken to blood.

He works soap into her hair, into her scalp and her moan twisted into a sob. Inescapable, the sound fell from her followed by fresh tears. She does not deserve him. When his hands still it takes all her strength to murmur "keep going."

Maker. Bless. This. Man. He does, chattering inanely about the next time they get visited by the trader from Rivain - does she think he'll bring more goat cheese? It was delicious, he hopes he does bring it. That spiced wine she liked, too, and those little almond sweets they shared with the local children.

She hides her inconsolable sobs with small noises that translate to noncommittal answers. Her hands are fists in her lap and she pries her fingers apart with sheer strength of will, reaching for the soap to clean the rest of her body.

Her fingers travel over her breasts with another sob, another shudder. How many Broodmothers are out there, that she's helped kill so many already? Were they all Humans and Dwarves, Elves, or did they take Qunari too? Were any of them tainted like she had been prior to their transformation? She does not want to end like that. She does not want that to be her legacy.

Alistair falls quiet behind her again as he rinses the soap clean, and with her next barely disguised sob starts to hum a tune. She recognizes it as one of Oghren's favourite - and exceptionally bawdy - tavern songs, and chokes on her laughter. The song is called _The Rose of Bramble Street_ and there's an irony there she can't put into words.

Templar training, he'd said when she asked him how he came to acquire his hair washing skills, but watching him with Barkspawn gave her a different idea. He'd told her about staying in the kennels, and that part she had believed. Unbidden, the image of him playing with Mabari pups as a child came to mind. Him, bathing them as carefully as he tended to her hair, laughing softly at the squirming hound in his hands.

The image twisted with her now bitter hope, the pup becoming a babe, giggling delightedly. A shock of ginger hair and expressive hazel eyes - more him than her. A girl, as precious in the darkness as the rose he'd given her, the Rose she had wanted to give him in return. Or a boy, all toothy smiles and curious hands, a Duncan to raise with all the love Alistair should have known sooner.

She didn't even know if he wanted that, because she had taken that one short conversation and left it at that until two and a half months ago. A hand passes over her stomach and she wants to vomit, to scream. How could she have never asked him?

How can she ask him now?

He doesn't press as she starts to shake, already finished wringing the water from her hair. His hands find hers in the water, heedless of it soaking his sleeves that he had pushed to his elbows, and he draws them around her. Like this, she is holding herself and he is holding her and she knows she cannot fall apart. She knows dawn will come, another day, another week. Soon enough it will be some two thousand hours since she lost that perfect little blending of the two of them, then two thousand more, and the pain will fade.

Soft kisses tease the crook of her neck as he nuzzled into her, uncaring of her damp skin, the water lapping around his arms and soaking his front. He's not trying to start anything, she knows. But when he doesn't know the words, he tries to show her how he feels. He does it now, thumbs brushing the curve of her elbows, grip just tight enough that moving is impossible without effort.

 _Maker_ , she wants to love him more. He deserves more. He deserves everything.

Alistair withdraws from her only once the shaking stops, more soft kisses trailing across her shoulder-blade before he pads to the fire to fetch the towel. It's a small luxury, the warm and fluffy embrace, and he only adds to it when he produces her nightshirt, also fire-warmed and ready for her to slip into.

Barely twelve words she's managed since he found her on the walls, and she struggles to add to the count as he tugs her to sit on the bed, shrugging off his damp shirt as he settles behind her. The last of the lingering heat is chased from the towel as he uses it on her hair.

"I love you." Fifteen.

His laughter is a rough bark, worthy of a dog lord. "I don't think I'm _that_ good at this." He sets to work with a wide-toothed comb, dragging out the new knots from her not quite dry hair with tender passes. He still doesn't push. "But that's good, or else my feelings for you would be incredibly awkward. Not to mention the fact that we share a bed."

His words tease a small smile from her, and she has to tell him, "I'm glad you're here."

Alistair snorted softly, fingers clumsily working to tie her hair back in a close approximation of a braid. "I bet with Barkspawn warming your covers, you hardly notice when I'm not."

He means it as a joke, but her hands are fists again where they rest on her knees, and she stared blankly ahead. "I notice."

He swallowed thickly and she knows he heard the shake in her voice. There's a creak of the bed frame and a shift in the mattress behind her, and then with a surprised squeak he's scooping her up in his arms, holding her close. Twenty one words from the walls to the bed, and he's warm at her back, tucking her in under the covers and at his side. "Go to sleep, Elissa. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

She finds his hands, the one arm buried underneath her and the other a reassuring weight over her. Hers are small and easily contained in his, dainty but battle-scarred, and he holds them like he holds the rest of her; like she is a precious and fragile thing.

It wrings one last sob from her, his attentiveness. Fresh tears prick her eyes and she knows he is aware that something is truly wrong. A low whistle from him summons the Mabari from his slumber and the mattress shifts as it accommodates the weight of the hound by their feet. Elissa breaths deep, leather and metal and soap and dog and Alistair filling her nose.

Wordlessly, she presses his hands to her stomach with the shaky exhale, to her empty womb.

"Oh, 'Lis," his voice cracks, and he pulls her closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hurt to write, but wouldn't let go. Probably going to take a break from this pair for a little bit as a result. Love you all for reading. <3


	20. We Were Just Kids Then

**9:30 Dragon, Haring**

 

Fergus lives. No news has sounded so sweet, and they had just stopped a Blight, defeated an archdemon together.

He wanted that for her. He wanted that joy on her face. Maker, he wanted her happy and now she was, embracing her brother. Smiling despite the dark news they had to share, catching up in quick snippets of grief and pain.

Fergus isn't happy about his little sister becoming a Grey Warden, but he takes the news - the death sentence - in stride, combined with the loss of his family, his wife. His child. He had heard of the attack, of course, but to know, actually know what happened is a blessing and a curse. Like Elissa, he does not cry, not at first. Couslands grieve the wrong way, the whole lot of them it seems.

But his anger is abated by the news of Howe's death, of Loghain's execution by Alistair's hand. Still, he keeps his tears to himself.

She listens as her brother tells her of being wounded in the Kokari Wilds, of his slow recovery. Of his journey to Denerim, of his shock at learning bits and pieces of what happened in Highever after he left, what truly transpired at Ostagar. The surprise of hearing the Cousland name being bandied about in the same breath as words like _Hero_ and _Saviour_ and realising they meant her, his little sister, Pup. The Ternyir was always meant for her and now she has exceeded it.

He tells her how proud he is.

She tells him how glad she is.

They embrace, again and again, like they can't believe the other is there with them, alive and as unscathed as they can be, coming out of a war.

And Alistair watches, invited but apart, learning what it is to be Elissa's family.


	21. Waking To Wish Existence Timeless

**9:41 Dragon, Wintermarch**

**Copy of a letter addressed to Warden Alistair Theirin, archived in the Rookery at Skyhold**

 

> _Alistair, my love,_
> 
> _I wish I could be there with you. I am sorry about everything, the Wardens, leaving this task to you, all of it. I should have stayed, found someone else to go. But love, no one else would have made it out here. West always meant Orlais for us, but the further you go into the Tirashan, the elves there are nothing like the Dalish and- Maker, it doesn't matter where I've been or am going._
> 
> _I have the rest of the notes from Avernus. They have made frustrating reading but I hold out hope. Barkspawn and I have been sleeping in shifts lately so please, do not worry. Though there is plenty to worry about, I am glad you made me take him. He makes it easier, like you always did, and the dangers are not so deadly. Though he may be tiring of being my only companion. Our conversations have grown very one sided lately. And I may have some new scars for you to map._
> 
> _But we are pressing on. There is something worth looking into here, and I have hope, more than I have had in a while. Maybe because you got word to me. Knowing that you are well helps, my love. I miss you though. So much. It's been too long and I think of little else but returning to you once this is done._
> 
> _I will be returning. Know that, if nothing else. It's out here, Alistair, and I'm going to find it for you. For us._
> 
> _I'll see you soon, my love. I am and always will be yours._
> 
> _Elissa,_


	22. And They Were Never Really Stars At Heart

**9:30 Dragon, Bloomingtide**

 

Fingers had traced the swirls of dark Kaddis on the fire-warmed fur, following the pattern from head to tail.

Elissa had taken Dog with her from Cousland Castle, the only member of her family left to her after the slaughter. He had followed faithfully, tongue lolling and panted breaths steaming in the cold night air as Duncan helped her escape.

Maker bless and keep that hound.

She had named him as a child, already well accustomed to being her father's Pup. What else could her Mabari be, then, but Dog? She was a child no longer now, less and less with every step from her home.

He had helped keep them safe on the road from Highever to Ostagar, warning of bandits and finding game. He had helped keep her safe in the Kokari Wilds, helped keep her safe climbing the tower.

She wasn't able to keep him safe in return. She had failed her family, once again.

A Darkspawn blade had finished what Darkspawn blood had started. Dog had breathed his last in her arms, held tight in front of the fire, as painless as she could make it when it became clear there was no other hope. Other hounds would be spared the taint, but Dog...

Dog had been brave and stalwart and true, and she could only spare him a moment, a hasty pyre erected in the tower hall before they pressed on to light the beacon.

Alistair had watched her say goodbye with a smile, kissing the warhound softly on his snout as if she was only bidding him goodnight.

Alistair had watched her move cautiously towards the Mabari standing in the middle of the road, blocking their path and surrounded by Darkspawn corpses.

"I think it's one of the hounds from Ostagar."

The dog in front of them had similar brown fur to Dog, but younger, its Kaddis smudged and stained with blood. It had sniffed the offered hand, licking it fondly as if it was greeting a long lost companion.

The hound came with them, despite Morrigan's snide comment, and Alistair had been relieved to see Elissa's smile, small and sad though it was. "We should name him," he nudged her.

"Any suggestions?"

A second smile, true, a small moment passing between the two Wardens had him swallowing against the lump in his throat. He made a thoughtful noise as he glanced back at the warhound. It needed a grand name, something fit for a survivor, something regal and commanding and inspiring and-

"Barkspawn," he muttered, unable to think of anything but a dumb joke.

"I like it. Barkspawn it is."

The dog woofed in response, apparently content with the decision. Her bright smile at the sound was perfection to his eyes. Maker, one good thing about the Blight was that it brought people together; brought _them_ together.


	23. And Sorry I Could Not Travel Both

**9:31 Dragon, Solace**

 

She is made Warden-Commander by orders from Weisshaupt, from the First Warden. The orders leave no room for argument; Elissa is to take control of the Arling of Amaranthine, gifted to the Grey Wardens by Anora Mac Tir.

Alistair is given other orders.

When Ser Mhari comes to escort her to Vigil's Keep, she leaves Barkspawn with him. The Mabari whined, barking in defiance of her orders, but she stood firm.

"You have to stay with Alistair."

Bark. No.

"He will need you more than I do."

Whine. No. Stay with my lady.

"I need to know he has someone watching his back."

Bark. Then bring cheese breeches with us.

"Alistair has his own mission, and I want you to go with him."

Snort. Let him go alone.

"Can you do that for me? Keep him safe?"

Whine. If my lady insists.

"Once he's done, you can visit the Denerim kennels again. They need you almost as much as we do."

Woof!

She's not sure which one is going to miss her more. Alistair keeps her pinned in bed as long as he can, all questing fingers and deep kisses until she breaks his hold and slips from under the covers to dress. Barkspawn lays on her feet, two massive front paws in her lap and puppy eyes when she tries to tug her boots on. Together, they trap her against the wall until she is breathless and covered in dog hair, laughter on her lips and heart fit to burst for all the love she feels. She lost her parents, her home, her Dog for this, but Maker she would go through all that time and time again to be here, with him and Barkspawn. The leather and metal armor feels right in a way silk and velvet and jewels never have and nestled in his arms, listening to Barkspawn's huffs and snores, she has a home even the Empress of Orlais would be jealous of.

"See you soon, Alistair." The words are easy, the knowledge that the Blight is over and that the Grey Wardens are being rebuilt with their help more than enough to make this parting a joyful one.

"I still can't believe you're an Arlessa now." He teases her even as she slips from his grasp to saddle her horse.

"Fergus is a Teyrn, it's something of a step down. And you could have been king," Elissa teases back, sticking her tongue out as he rolls his eyes. She knows he thinks little and less of the part of him that is considered royal; thinks more of the taint than the blue in his blood.

He proves it, mentioning the only formal title they share, the thing that makes them equals. "Instead we're both Grey Wardens."

She made a contented sound, pulling him in for another kiss. Ser Mhari wanted to be ready to ride at daybreak, but Elissa is the Warden-Commander now. And she defeated the archdemon. Surely the knight will forgive her for stealing one more moment with Alistair before they part. "There's only one title I'm happy to claim."

"What would that be?"

"Yours."

Before he can think of a witty retort or banish the flush from his cheeks she is mounted, off to claim her keep, and Barkspawn whines as Alistair can do nothing more than watch her hips sway in the saddle as she leaves.


	24. I See My Final Dwelling-Place

**9:31 Dragon, August**

 

She writes.

She writes a journal, records to be preserved for the Vigil. She inscribes the names of the fallen Wardens she never got the chance to meet, she immortalizes Mhari in the pages. She details the Joinings of her companions and the events that brought them to serve the Grey Wardens alongside her.

And when the secrets of the Order are marked on the vellum, she puts the book aside and gathers parchment.

And she writes.

Bryce had cautioned his Pup never to commit anything to paper she would not want an enemy to know, and she had taken her father's advice to heart as a child. But the Order needs their Warden-Commander to make records.

And Alistair needs to know she thinks of him.

Often.

Daily.

Constantly.

Elissa takes what chances she gets to commit those thoughts to paper, though most find their way to the fire more than they do the messengers pile.

Her quill stills, words buried in the blob of ink that rests on the tip as it hovers over the parchment. She can taste something bitter as she thinks back on the last few days, her thoughts swirling away from her. She wants this letter to be like so many others, to be about how she misses waking up next to her love, how she misses his stupid jokes - Anders makes up for it sometimes, but it just isn't the same, it isn't _right_ , it isn't _Alistair_ , trying to win Barkspawn over, grousing about something Morrigan said, promising to dance the Remigold in a dress if she asks nicely.

But the usual words won't come. The weight of Keenan's wedding ring, though gone from her pack, still lingers.

His name is entombed in the vellum of her journal, snugly bound in leather and cloth.

And the look of _relief_ on Nida's face when Elissa informed her of her husband's death is scorched in her mind.

The life of a Grey Warden is hard; this she knows. The Joinings she oversees with Varel only serve to prove this to her, again and again. She remembers, too, Jory and Daveth. More names she preserved in vellum, where Duncan could not - all are Grey Wardens for braving the Joining, no matter the outcome. Ser Jory, too, left family behind in Highever for the chance. A wife and child bereft of husband and father because he had been a coward at the end.

She did not know if they believed him one of the many killed at Ostagar or if they knew the truth. But had he taken the Joining, had he survived, had he lived through Loghain's betrayal and the rest of the Blight with them, what then? Would his wife and child still have been waiting in Highever? Would they have gone with him, wherever the First Warden sent him after?

Or would she have left him for another man too?

Elissa still cannot forget how cold, how uncaring Nida had been. The sight of her husband's wedding ring hadn't even brought a tear to the woman's eye. She cannot fathom -

To not care, if this life they lead takes her love.

Her father raised her to be brave, to be strong, to be wise. To not commit to paper anything that could be used against her.

She does not heed his advice when she writes to Alistair.

 

 

> _I can make it through anything, knowing you are what I will return to. I swear, I will always come back to you love. You are all I need, and when you are here I will finally be able to call the Vigil home. So come home, Alistair, my Warden, my love. Come home to me._


	25. A Future Divergent

**9:30 Dragon, Harvestmere**

 

"You like her."

It isn't a question, and if he thought the accusation shocking, he certainly wasn't prepared for what came next.

"You don't have to give her up, if you become King. If anything, Lady Cousland would be as beloved as Anora on the throne. She comes from a good family."

" _Maker's breath_ , Eamon!" Alistair coloured, his voice a hiss, willing his not-really-uncle to lower his own. Elissa is talking to Riordin in the next room and he does not want her party to this - whatever this is that his kind-of-uncle is suggesting. Because it sounds like Eamon Guerrin, Arl of Redcliff is suggesting he take the throne _and_ get engaged all at once.

He's not sure which part of that is the most ludicrous. Because he's a _bastard_ , and, oh, _I don't know_ , that tends to make one more or less unwelcome when it comes to the fancy chair and shiny headgear. Never mind the fact that Eamon is right! Elissa - _Lady Cousland_ \- does come from a good family. A Teryn's daughter.

A woman he promised to dance the Remigold in a dress for, once.

Oh, sweet Andraste. It's not that he didn't _know_ she was better than him. And in so many ways! But that annoying little noble thing, he had happened to notice that, thanks.

"I knew her parents, and met her a few times as a child. She always seemed a willful, headstrong girl, too much like her father. I'm surprised you get along, if I'm honest."

Alistair squirms under the heavy weight of Eamon's gaze. There's an undercurrent to the words, the suggestion that Elissa, dear, sweet 'Lis, was meant for something greater than the Grey Wardens, than highly unromantic tumbles in a tent running from one end of Fereldan to the other while slaughtering her way through a Darkspawn horde. Meant for better things than this and him, even if he is made King.

Which he does not want, by the way, thanks for asking, really swell of you.

"Well we do," all petulance. Eamon is still talking too loudly, but Riordin seems to be keeping Elissa's attention. Thank the Maker for small miracles. He would just die, he knows, if she ever learned of this conversation. "Really well, actually. She taught me which spoon to use for soup, you know. Managed to impress Isolde with that."

Oh, that had felt good. The whole meal had been awkward, but Isolde had insisted the two Wardens dine with her while Connor rested, before they set off to find the Urn. And Elissa hated being rude, she really did, and they were so tired! And a good, hot meal? Who turns that down after slogging around Lake Calenhad to fetch some mages to do some borderline blood magic ritual thing to save a child from a desire demon? Not Alistair Theirin, that's for bloody certain.

Sitting down at the table with multiple cutlery options had been daunting, but his fellow Warden, like so many other times, saved him with a gentle nudge and a raised eyebrow. Honestly, all he had done was follow her lead. Which, to be fair, he had been doing pretty much since he met her.

Well, she had yet to steer him wrong, be it soup spoons or working on ending the Blight. They _could_ do with one less Antivan Crow in their party, but her ability to see the best in people was incredible.

And, _oh_ , those nights in her tent when she showed him-

Nope. Mind wandering. Abort.

Scowl, don't blush.

"I don't want to be King, Eamon. I'm a Grey Warden, I have a duty to end the Blight. Fereldan managed without me being a Prince, it can survive without me being King, surely?"

"We have talked about this Alistair, you have to consider-"

"I _am_ considering what's best for everyone! But everyone is a lot of people, you know. And it includes me and Elissa, and I can't just leave her to fight the Blight by herself because there's an empty fancy chair that wants a bum in it."

"Fereldan needs a King on the throne if it's to survive _after_ the Blight, Alistair. And as I said, Lady Cousland would be accepted as Queen, if you were unwilling to put aside your feelings for her."

"I'm not talking about this!" Alistair starting singing nonsensical words, hands covering his ears. Not because he didn't think Elissa would make a good Queen...

Oh, Andraste have mercy, Elissa on the throne looks _good_. Elissa in dresses and crowns, Elissa at his side, Elissa on her knees in the Chantry, saying the words...

Huh.

He stopped singing, glancing over at her. Her dark hair shone in the candlelight, her eyes glinted with a barely hidden mischievousness. Her lips quirked up in a smile, Riordin clearly being amusing. Would she want that?

Would she want to be... _married_? To him? Together? The two of them?

They hadn't really discussed the future, such as it is with the Wardens. He didn't want the throne though, with or without her. What he did want...

He wanted whatever she wanted. If that meant, one day, marrying her then by the Maker he would marry her in a heartbeat. He'd invent time travel so he could go back and marry her sooner! He'd go back to Ostagar and marry her there and then if he could, go back before Howe slaughtered her family and charm the britches off her parents so they'd be begging him to take her for a wife.

And if she didn't want that, then that was fine too. Whatever kept him at her side.

Maker's balls. If he had to be King - and he didn't _want_ it, but let's face it, no one really cares what poor old Alistair wants - but if he had to, then hopefully Eamon is right. Because as awkward as it would be getting engaged the same day he gets crowned King, there is no way, absolutely _no way_ he is doing it without Elissa.

Who else is going to put up with his cheese demands? Or let him pay his IOU's with promises of dances in dresses? Or ruffle his hair and boop his nose when he tells a particularly funny joke? Never mind the actual running the country part, he wouldn't even know where to start.

Would she want that, though? The crown, the burden, _him_? She would well and truly be stuck with him then. Unless she had Zevran stick around to knock him off, if he was really awful at being King. Or a husband. Maker. Can you be so terrible at being married that your spouse tries to have you killed?

She noticed him looking and smiled, warm and reassuring. No, she probably wouldn't have him killed. She was very good at handling her problems by herself; if she wanted him dead she'd do it with her own blades. Which reminded him... Tonight they would sneak into the Arl of Denerim's mansion to free Anora.

He hoped it went well. He hoped Anora would be on their side, and the whole him taking the throne thing wouldn't need to be revisited. He  _hoped_.


	26. How Deep Lies The Shadow

**9:41 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

Morrigan catches her on the steps, squinting against the glare of light on Elissa's mail. Barkspawn yawns lazily and leant against her leg, possessive and reassuring. "Elissa, wait."

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she glares up at the hedgewitch. Leave it up to Morrigan to literally take the high ground. "What do you want, Morrigan?"

"I know you're angry," she starts.

"Void fuck you, Morrigan. Of course I'm angry," Elissa snaps. She can see Trevelyan and Leliana in the doorway to the hall, and makes sure her voice carries so there can be no mistaking her words. "You were supposed to be my friend. You were supposed to be _his_ friend. When I needed him most, I gave you him," flint eyes narrowed on the boy playing in the courtyard, lending a secondary meaning to her accusation. Kieran. She would know who he was any day. "I had to beg and plead him, but I let you have him that night! He was supposed to be _safe_ , Morrigan. I trusted _you_ to keep him safe, and you failed him. The best thing in my life, and thanks to you and this damned Inquisition, he's gone."

She doesn't even care if Morrigan was there or not. She doesn't care that her grievence is ten years old. She doesn't care that Alistair almost certainly made this sacrifice willingly. She's angry, and she's lonely, and she wants to kiss him goodbye one last time. She wants some part of him to live on, some part that's hers, _hers_ , not a reminder of her fear and desperation in the face of the Archdemon. She wants, Maker, she wants her love in her arms, not her memories, not another reminder of _failure_ and _loss_ and _never will_.

She wants Kieran to not be _Kieran_ , to be Rose or Duncan or whatever name Alistair likes, his and hers and theirs, a Pup of her, their own. But she's had those thoughts before, and they're dangerous, worse than the whispers of the Calling. Elissa shakes them away, shakes off the conversation with Morrigan. The mage is no longer her concern, and the child has nothing to do with her or Alistair. That much was made abundantly clear long before she came to Skyhold, standing in front of an Eluvian and begging once more.

Elissa pats her hip, motioning Barkspawn to follow her, and continues her descent.


	27. When You Came Home

**9:31 Dragon, Haring**

 

Despite the scaffolding thick on the walls and the piles of debris scattered here and there in the courtyard, the Vigil is a welcome sight in the dead of winter. It had stood, against all odds. Lady Elissa Cousland, Arlessa of Amaranthine, daughter of the Sea Wolf, sister to the Teryn of Highever, stood, against all odds. She made hard choices, sacrifices, sent men and women to their almost certain deaths and somehow, somehow, she made it through on both feet, with a city saved, two Darkspawn hordes and their leaders defeated, and a keep that had held firm long enough for the Warden-Commander to do her duty.

She had lost Kristoff - Justice - but Oghren, Anders, and Nathaniel had held the walls and gates as long as they could. It was long enough, in the end. Velanna and Sigrun had helped saved Amaranthine. All of them, Wardens all, were honoured by the people they had saved. And all of them had stayed to help rebuild keep and Order. Alistair couldn't be prouder as he walked between the weathered but ready walls. Letters were all fine and well, gossip served to make the legend grander but here, now, finally, he would see her again. All he had to do was survive an evening of drinks and talking - an easy enough feat for the man that faced down an Archdemon beside the Hero of Ferelden.

Oghren had pushed some vile concoction into his hands as soon as he'd seen him, not even giving him a chance to set his pack down and Alistair sniffed at it warily as he leaned against the wall. Barkspawn sat next to him, short tail thumping out a steady beat as the pair watched the hall. Wardens and nobles, servants and farmers, it was an odd mix to be sure.

Even odder to be standing near the son of the man who had murdered Elissa's family. A son who was _praising_  the Warden-Commander.

A little too much, if he was honest. He took a sip, instantly regretting it, as Nathaniel turned again to the Warden recruit next to him. "It's not so crazy, is it? There was a time my father thought we would make a good coupling."

The mage beside him snorted, taking a pull of his clearly safer drink. He was never trusting Oghren with his refreshments again. "I think I have a better shot than you do. After all, I didn't show up here planning on _killing_ her, I'm just an apostate that had to be rescued from the Templars a few times."

"That was before I knew her! Before I knew the truth about my father. Elissa," Alistair growled under his breath at Nathaniel's familiarity with the Warden-Commander, "forgave me. And we're done with the big Darkspawn threat, so there's time to get to know each other."

"Still, hardly a great basis for a relationship. Assuming she's even available." Anders, the name clicked, remembering her letters about the Joining's she had overseen since taking charge of the Vigil. "Don't suppose you ever thought to ask?"

It stung a little, not just because he'd stupidly tried to take another sip but that they didn't know how much she cared for him, that she didn't spend every free moment extolling his virtues the way he did hers every chance he got. He thought about interjecting, but the conversation moved on without his help.

"What are you nughumpers talkin' about? 'Course she's got a man, don't you asschabs know anything about anything? A woman like that doesn't stay lonely long unless she wants to," Oghren belched around his laughter, shooting the Warden on the wall a knowing look. "'Sides, not even 'ol Oghren is good enough for that one." The dwarf sniggered, pointing off to the other end of the hall where Elissa had entered.

Another dwarf - Sigrun, if he had to guess from the casteless tattoos gracing her face - piped up, "all those stories they spin about her and the Blight, being ten foot tall and shooting lightening from her eyes, and you two idiots don't think there's any truth to the ones where she falls in love with her fellow Warden? It's such a lovely tale, finding beauty in the darkness." He remembers that line, saying words like that to her as he fumbled with the rose in his hands, and there's only one person Sigrun could have heard them from. Alistair had had crushes before, passing infatuations, but Elissa,  _Maker_ , she was something unexpected and amazing and he looked for her in the direction Oghren had indicated.

His breath hitched in his throat, catching sight of her for the first time in full Warden-Commader regalia. Void, but she's radiant in Warden blue and silverite. Her hair is neat in its braided bun, her back straight, her step steady, and her smile-

Her smile brightened when she found him leaning against the wall, instantly excusing herself from her conversation to make her way to his corner. Two of the three junior - were they still junior Wardens, after what had happened? - Wardens hit each other, standing taller, sure it was _them_ she was coming to see. Oghren just belched once more, amusement on his face as he grabbed the almost full mug from Alistair. He could have kissed the dwarf for his thoughtfulness because Maker, did he want his hands free for this reunion, but it was clear thought had nothing to do with it. Oghren downed whatever the vile drink had been with a grin, whispering sweet nothings to the mug.

Barkspawn cut her off some paces before him and she knelt, happily accepting the dogs affections. "Hello boy, did you take good care of Alistair for me?" He woofed, deep and loud, drawing a giggle from her as she scratched behind the warhounds ears. "Good boy, Barkspawn."

Long weeks, _months_ apart, and the damned dog steals her attention first. He cleared his throat as he pushed off the wall, surprised that her smile could get any wider, any brighter. But it did, _Maker, she's perfection_ , and he blinked, her hands cupping his face, her chest pressed against his, her eyes closed, her lips-

He was vaguely aware of the embarrassed looks Nathaniel and Anders shared, the tinge of colour creeping up their necks. The enthusiastic grin on Sigrun's face is comforting. The burped cheer from Oghren as he slammed the empty mug on a nearby table didn't escape his notice either. But he didn't care, not one bit, not when his arms were wrapping around her waist and her lips were on his. And _oh_ , was there anyone better than his love, whispering _hello_ before deepening the kiss, uncaring for the crowd around them as her arms wrapped around his neck.

He should leave her more often, if this is the greeting he gets.

He should never leave her again.

"Miss me?" he chuckled when she finally broke, eyes bright with emotion. He already knew the answer, her words kept safe in his pack. Had she kept his as safe, as treasured?

"Endlessly," she murmured, dipping her head to his chest, listening for his heartbeat through the layers of leather and fabric and metal that separated them. "I'll show you how much when we're done here."

Andraste's flaming sword, he loves this woman.


	28. What One Man Gains, Another Has Lost

**9.32 Dragon, Drakonis**

 

The mage survived her Joining despite the Taint already in her blood. It's not unheard of, trading certain death for the slim chance and a short lifespan as a Grey Warden; if anything it seems like their chances of survival are often higher than those entering the Order without. Weisshaupt guards the secrets it holds well, though, and what records they have been willing to share with Fereldan's Warden-Commander are by no means complete. It's one more frustrating obstacle she has yet to overcome, and time is never on a Grey Warden's side.

Stroud brings the mage with him when he passes through Amaranthine, leaves her behind when he continues on. She's Fereldan, he asserts. It would do her good to be around other Fereldans right now. Elissa isn't so sure of that, watching the way she flinches whenever Alistair is near her.

It's the Templar thing, surely, because why else would anyone ever fear the goofy Warden? All the local children know him on sight, can tell it's him even when he has his helmet on. There's something in the way he moves, _fidgets_ , that gives him away every time. But somehow, that doesn't comfort the new Warden. Her love doesn't hide his past, and Stroud said they came from Kirkwall. They hear the stories trickling out from the Gallows. The new mage has stories of her own, and some of them involve a familiar name when she's willing to share.

There's no bringing Anders back, though. Elissa may have saved his life, kept him from the Templars, but something had changed in him after Justice left them. He withdrew, turned aside her friendship. He hadn't liked Alistair's presence all that much, either.

So it's the Templar thing, probably. Would it have been different for her, if she had been a mage? Would she have bothered to get to know him? Would she still have fallen for his boyish charm or would his training as a mage hunter have scared her too much? Wynne never let his training bother her and Morrigan- Well, suffice to say Morrigan held different views from most mages, apostate or otherwise. Velanna certainly didn't seem to mind Alistair more or less than any other person at the Vigil. There weren't that many other mages here, Warden or otherwise, that she could surreptitiously examine. But the new mage...

Elissa would catch her, sometimes, following Alistair move through the keep with her eyes, her whole body tensed and coiled like she was ready to bolt. When she finally found time to actually speak to the newest Warden, however, it became clear Alistair wasn't the only thing she didn't enjoy about being a Grey Warden.

"How is it a choice, at that point? Die from the Darkspawn blood, or maybe die from the Joining? Either way, I was dead. My sister consigned me to this fate."

"Stroud warned you and your sister that being a Grey Warden is not something to stumble into." Anders should have been her lesson in recruiting willy-nilly, she supposed. Conscription was all well and good, but look where it got her. The Wardens that had stood with her were scattered, Velanna was hardly ever around, Sigrun rarely surfaced from the Deep Roads, Nathaniel was back in the Free Marches, and Oghren - Well, Oghren was either with Felsi or drunk, and neither states made him a reliable Warden.

Still, beggars can't be choosers when there are talking Darkspawn to defeat, and at the very least now she had Alistair and Barkspawn most months than not. "We didn't stumble," the mage snapped.

Elissa sighed, lowering her eyes to the papers on her desk. The Vigil needed work, work required builders, and builders required coin. It never seemed to end, the duties piling up one after the other, chaining her to her desk more days than not. At least there was a comfortable familiarity in running an Arling, lessons learned from her parents put to good use. Alistair had, in turn, been irreplaceable alongside Captain Garavel overseeing the training of troops, Warden and otherwise. Together, it worked. "Regardless of what brought you here, here is where you are. Not all of us come to the Wardens freely, or by our own choice. It's what we make of our lives since the Joining that matters." They are brave, wise words, the sort she can imagine Duncan saying to her. The sort she wished he could have said to her in the aftermath. "This life is hard and comes at an unimaginable cost, I know all too well. But there are good things about being a Warden too. While we have no say in the lives we have left behind, all of us are a family now."

"That's easy for you to say," the woman snorted, shifting her weight as she stared down at the Warden-Commander. "Sitting in the seat of power, loved by the crown, a Templar to warm your bed-"

Elissa rose, far quicker than someone in mail should have been able to, cutting her off. "First off, I _earned_ everything I have here. I defended a nation and brought down an Archdemon - something _only_ a Warden can do - with all the odds against me. Alistair and I were the only Wardens left in Fereldan after Ostagar, both of us new to the life. We shouldn't have succeeded, but _we did_." Clasping her hands behind her back, she padded over to the fire where Barkspawn so often lay. The hound was off, terrorising - or helping, tough to say - the guard, leaving the room feeling a little empty without his snoring. "Secondly, the crown does not love us. Anora tolerates our presence because to do anything else would be suicide. We were responsible for the death of her father, just as we were responsible for leaving her on the throne, neither of which should have been left to us but those decisions _were_. So no, she does not love us. She tolerates us because if Alistair wasn't a Warden, he would be King, and he would not suffer Anora as Queen. Which leads me to my last point." She could be cruel in this. Elissa walked a thin line between harsh and kind every day with the Wardens underneath her, but she did not govern with fear. Even now. Cruelty would get her nowhere. "Alistair is a Grey Warden, and only a Grey Warden. Yes, he _warms my bed_ ," she flung the words back at the other woman, a wry chuckle accompanying them and lessening the blow, "but I would be a fool not to let him with the time given to us. Hate him all you want for who he is, but do not hold his upbringing or the circumstances of his birth against him. Enough people have done that to him his entire life, and I will not see the practice continue here."

The new Warden was quiet for a moment before venturing, "when they said... There are so few mages here. I thought..." She trailed off, and Elissa shook her head.

"As much as Gregoir owes us, he wouldn't tolerate me walking into the Circle and demanding his best mages. Or any mages," she shrugged. "Not without insisting on Templar - actual Templar - oversight," she added, rolling her eyes. "It's bad enough I conscripted Anders out from under them, and that didn't work out too well for me in the end anyway. I'm doing the best I can with what I've been given, and I know it isn't enough. Just know that as long as you're a Warden, one of us, part of _this_ family, we will protect you, regardless of your magic. Alistair would never use the things he learned as a Templar against you unless you threaten the things he loves. Nor would any other Grey Warden with similar skills. I can appreciate that you're angry about being here," she continued, taking a chance. "Becoming a Warden didn't feel like much of a choice for me, either. Whatever version of my story you choose to believe led me here, just know I couldn't have done it without turning to my friends. Alistair was the first person to make me feel safe after Ostagar and if you can bring yourself to trust him, I have no doubt he would be happy to call you a friend too."

She isn't sure that her words have had any effect, not for a few days. Not until she sees the mage sit next to Alistair in the dining room during breakfast and quietly introduce herself. "My name is Bethany Hawke. The Warden-Commander seems to think you'd be the best one to train me."

It's not much, she knows. It's one mage embracing the role she was thrust into. But it's one more than she had after Ostagar, and it's a start. The Order will survive.


	29. The Fight Is All We Know

**9:33 Dragon, Justinian**

 

The Deep Roads. How many times now has she ventured into their depths without her love? How many unspeakable horrors has she faced without his shield to protect her?

Jerrick Dace plods on with his Bronto, oblivious to the whir of thoughts Elissa is lost in as they head deeper and deeper. She should have brought Oghren, or Sigrun at least. Maybe persuaded the dwarf to let her bring Bethany or reach out to Wynne. Having a mage always made the Deep Roads a little more bearable.

This is where her life will end, one day. Deep down in the dark, blades in hand and the song in her head. It's the best Elissa can hope for, a great and glorious burning out into obscurity. She hates the titles heaped upon her. It's a curious thing, how many people greet her only as _Hero_ , or _Warden-Commander_. Some of the Banns at least have the grace to call her by her family name but most of the time it feels like she could be anyone else. It didn't have to be _her_ , it didn't have to be Elissa Cousland that felled the Archdemon. It's as if it's the action that mattered, not the individual. Not all the sweat and blood that had to be shed to get to the defining moment.

Had she told Jerrick that Velanna was the lauded Hero of Fereldan, would he have believed it? Would he have begged the elf to follow him down here as he had pleaded with her? She never would have gone, of course. No. Only Elissa is foolish enough to accept this errand. Partially to keep her from worrying about the latest orders from Weisshaupt, orders that once again sent Alistair out from the relative safety of the Vigil. She couldn't have brought Bethany with her had Jerrick allowed, either, as the mage had gone with him. Velanna was off again. Sigrun was down here already, somewhere else, her faith in the Grey Wardens slipping - Elissa could tell. Her childlike wonder had faded slowly in the aftermath of the fight with the Architect and the Mother, and the Legionnaire had been pulling away. She would end down here, sooner than she should no doubt. The fate of a Grey Warden when there's no Blight to contend with. Or, in Sigrun's case perhaps, the fate of one already Dead.

And oh, Weisshaupt is not happy with her for it. The First Warden thinks little and less of her these days, the tarnish settling on her silverite in the wake of all her grand deeds. Not only did she lose Anders, but she does not keep her fellow Wardens on a tight leash. It's been a rocky road - how could it not be? - establishing the Grey Warden stronghold in Amaranthine. She does her best, uses the lessons her parents taught her well, navigates the treacherous pit of vipers Anora calls her court, braves the Deep Roads and Denerim both with the mantle of Warden-Commander hanging heavy on her shoulders.

But she does not sag. She does not slouch. She holds her head high as a Cousland and a Warden must and surrounds herself with the friends that she can hold onto. Weisshaupt may be where her orders come from, but she does not let them control her. She does not bow to Anora when she is summoned to the palace - a small quirk that never fails to amuse Fergus and Alistair and irritate the monarch - and she does not ask the Banns of Amaranthine to bow to her either. She simply does her duty as best she can, fufills the offices of Arlessa and Warden-Commander and Grey Warden and Lady Cousland and Hero of Fereldan as best she can.

Which is why she finds herself sidestepping Bronto leavings as she follows Jerrick Dace down, deeper and deeper. Into the old dwarven ruins and into her thoughts.


	30. I Never Met A Better Fighter Of Her Fears

**9:40 Dragon, ???**

 

Neither knows which one heard the sour note first. They hide it from each other as long as they can.

They had agreed, long before. Go down together.

Neither is ready, but the song curdles their blood and Barkspawn wakes them from their nightmares and they are forced to admit it to each other. To themselves.

They hear the Calling and they cannot drown it out with their love as hard as they try. The song echoes loud and long in the Vigil's halls, and no Warden is safe.

The Commander of the Grey steels herself.


	31. His Hands Long To Hold The World

**9:41 Dragon, ???**

**Letter found tucked inside a discarded copy of Brother Genetivi's The History of Grey Wardens in Fereldan**

 

> _Elissa,_
> 
> _I don't know if this will find you. I made contact with Hawke again, she's helping me with our plan._
> 
> _I got your last letter. I know it's hard for you to write, but I will keep holding out hope that you'll send another soon. I miss you too, I always do. ~~I'm also~~ There will be time for sleep when we're done. A whole week, in the biggest, softest bed we can find._
> 
> _Come back soon, my love. Killing Darkspawn isn't the same without you by my side._
> 
> _Alistair_


	32. The Sanest Thing I'll Ever Do

**9:30 Dragon, Haring**

 

She lets him come to her.

Her tongue is wicked and her wit is sharp, but with him she is patient.

She does not push or demand, listening carefully to the words hidden underneath his jokes. When he is ready, she lets him come to her.

He worries he took too long even as he's uncertain that it's too soon, but she smiles and tells him she needs more testing to be sure. She's fine to follow his lead in this. _Maker's breath_. He's a lucky man.

She always asks first, like she needs permission for her feelings, for her needs. He acquiesces every time because contrary to what Morrigan thinks, he is _not_ an idiot.

She asked once, for more, and when he fumbled over his brilliant 'sorry I'm a virgin and I'm not ready' explanation she simply smiled softly, letting him crack stupid jokes at his own expense. She didn't push or judge and it wasn't the first time, but gazing into her blue-grey eyes all he could think was _I love you_.

When he is ready, she lets him come to her. He's nervous and it's not fair because she is Maker blessed perfection when she leads him to her tent. She's a little shy as she undresses like she's afraid he won't still want this, want her, and he kisses the worry away as best he can. He knows stories from his time in the barracks, from things Zevran has forced him to listen to, from things he wishes he could forget Oghren drunkenly slurring about. Stories can jump into the Fade though, stories could never live up to Elissa.

She always asks first. He's the one that needs the practice, the guidance, but she always makes it seem like he's the one helping her. She laughs at his jokes but never at his fumbles and Andraste preserve him he's going to drown under the depth of his love for her.

Rarely does she take without asking. As time passes her requests become quieter, silent, but present, there in the subtle pauses, the light touches. He gives her control in all other things, and she gives it back to him in their relationship. If he wanted to say no, she would listen. He never does. He never stops her. Why would he?

Rarely though, she takes.

She takes now, needy and frightened. One of them has to make the final blow. She takes, even as he screams for her to stop.

His world crumbles and time stills.

She takes.

And she survives.

She goes to him when it's over. Atop Fort Drakon they hold each other like it's the first time.


	33. And I Always Will

**9:31 Dragon, Guardian**

 

He's entranced by dark hair coiled into spiral, dangling over a bare shoulder. By a smattering of sun-born freckles that can be mapped into runes for defense, for fortitude, for agility if he lets his fingers roam across her back. By a smile that dazzles and eyes that sparkle. By a soft Ferelden voice tempered by years of education and upbringing.

Lady Cousland is _home_ , he thinks, and he hates it. It hasn't escaped his attention, single-minded as it may be, that everyone scrapes and bows before the Grey Warden, vying for her affection in the crowded ballroom. Anora's doing. Anora, her smile like bared teeth snarling down at him, her crown resting in her golden hair like a halo. But no one cares about the Queen tonight, no one pays attention to the fierceness barely hidden by her beauty, it's the _Warden_ they want to talk to. Vanquisher of the Blight, destroyer of the Archdemon. Beautiful _because_ she is fierce not in spite of it, Elissa has everyone looking at her.

She does not need him here, not tonight. In battle, she relies on him. In battle, he leads and she supports, guards his flank as he takes the charge. Here, on the dance floor, in the ballroom, she does not need him. His shield is useless against the discourse, his sword a butter knife against the velvet and lace. Alistair is reminded, as he was so often as a child, that he does not belong here. He shifts, uncomfortable in the borrowed clothing. How is it the ladies can look like their dresses were tailored just for them, and he's stuck in a shirt a little too small, breeches a little too big? Zevran and Sten don't share his discomfort. Maybe it's just him.

Maybe it's just one last spiteful jab from Anora. He did kill her father, after all. Though ill-fitting clothes hardly seems worth the effort. He would have served nothing but Orlesian stinky cheeses or had the whole room decorated with paintings of Cailen and Maric.

But it doesn't matter. He's not the one the Lordlings have come to see. No one cares about the bastard, alone in the corner. He gets the odd look, the sideways glance that never lingers, but always, _always_ their focus follows his - follows the heat of his gaze to the Warden, the Hero. He would blush, if he had any sense. He is, after all, being painfully obvious, _mooning_ even. Eamon has reprimanded him twice, Teagan cautioned him once. Even Wynne sighed softly at his elbow a handful of times before abandoning him.

He doesn't care, though. Most of Ferelden has been looking at Elissa fondly since the fall of the Archdemon, and they haven't been at her side the last several months. So it doesn't matter that he's being obvious, not when most of the room is being obvious.

Still, it hurts a little, to be so overlooked. For the room - and by extension, the nation - to think so little of their almost King that he's not even worth the space he's carved into Elissa's heart. It's where he belongs, it's _his_ home, there at her side, and he's being denied it by a host of pompous nobles and a petty monarch and his own hesitations. It hasn't helped that things have been uncertain after... Well, after Morrigan. A necessary stumble it may have been, but that hasn't stopped there from being an uncomfortable hint in the air whenever they have been together since that night.

It's thoughts of that, finally, that turn Alistair from the room. Mood already rather worn from the pomp and grandeur and whispers, he offers little more than a sullen explanation of needing air to his friends and escapes the ballroom. A rustle of fabric behind him catches his ear, but he doesn't turn. Probably some Bann's son, taking one last sniggering look at the bastard of Ferelden. It's a surprise then, when a hand slips into his, when warmth settles against his side, when her soft voice murmurs his name. There's concern in her tone, questioning his absence, but all he can do is shrug. "I wanted some fresh air." It's an excuse, one he's sticking to.

She follows him up the winding stairs that lead to the walls, her hand loose in his but _there_ , steady.

"You didn't have to leave your party to check on me," he ventures. She sighs.

"Our party."

It's subtle, because she's always subtle, but there's a brief flicker of force in the words. She never shies away from telling him he's included, wanted. He shrugs, makes a gesture with his hands. "I think Anora would disagree with you."

She snorts. "Anora would have _both_ of us dead at the top of Fort Drakon with the Archdemon, if she could. Who cares what she wants?"

He loves that, the flippancy with which she brushes aside the Queen. The way her hand squeezes his, the way she leans into him. Then she's moving aside, arms resting on the balustrades as she stares out across Denerim. The wind ruffles her hair, stirs goosebumps on her uncovered shoulders, flutters the skirts around her legs. Alistair knows he should drag her back inside, into the warmth, but instead he stands a few feet behind her, watching. "You would be a better Queen." He swallowed, remembering Eamon's words, the way they had curdled in his stomach. The way he had gotten lost in thoughts of a future that as a Grey Warden, he has no right to think of.

She stiffens slightly, but the wind has stilled and she does not shiver. It's not the cold that causes her to drop her head to her arms.

"I meant to ask," and it's stupid, so _stupid_ , she could have had everything and instead she's out here in the cold of a Ferelden winter in a sleeveless dress with Maric's bastard, tainted irrevocably and orphaned, and she's _laughing_ before he can figure out the rest of the sentence.

"If I wanted the crown, then I should have made a better effort to catch Cailen's attention when I was younger." She glanced back at him, amusement sparking in her flint eyes when they catch his, at his confusion. "Or," and she laughed again, this time a little bitter, "I would have listened better to Arl Eamon's clumsy attempts to convince me that you should be King." Elissa turned back to the view, hunkering down into herself. "My mother was very skilled with a bow, did I tell you that?"

Alistair isn't sure what that has to do anything and grunts out the _no_ in response. She had spoken of her family, of her parents rarely and in passing in the year and change that they had traveled together and, fool boy that he is, he had never asked. He moved closer, hovering behind his beloved Warden, half determined to take her in his arms and drag her inside. She won't move until she's ready though, he knows. Nothing moves Elissa Cousland without her permission, not the wind, not the cold, not Alistair, and certainly not the Archdemon.

"She didn't get to prove it very often. The first weapon a Lady has, she always told me, is her tongue. And hers was sharp and precise when it needed to be." He remembers how calm Elissa had been, both times Anora had turned on them. How impassive she had seemed, when the Queen had turned her scorn on her bastard brother-in-law. How her words had been spoken softly but fiercely. How Anora had actually wilted under the younger woman's steel gaze at the Landsmeet. And it could have been Elissa in her place from the start? With a Cousland wife at his side, would Ostagar even have happened, or would the impossibly brave woman in front of him had the horde routed before the whole mess began? Would Howe have dared raise a hand against her then? Her soft snort drew him from his thoughts as he dropped his forehead to her back and he pressed forward, offering her what warmth he could, trying to erase the thought of her and Cailen. "She taught me that and more and when the summons came, to meet the future king, I took those lessons to heart along with the advice my father gave me."

She's quiet for so long Alistair gets swept away in thinking of a young Elissa being presented at court. Of a young, fierce, dark haired girl being placed next to her golden counterpart and a boy with his nose appraising the pair like the stable master at Redcliff did the horses. It takes him a while to find his tongue. "What advice was that?"

Her hands catch his, pull him tighter around her until she's surrounded by him and the wall. He moves to rest his head on her shoulder and the quirk of her lips that he can see out of the corner of his eyes is soft. It's the gentle, wistful smile she gets when she thinks of Bryce Cousland. Maker, he knows her too well. "He told me to pay attention to the words a man says as much as the ones they don't. The way they treat their equals, their betters, and those they deem lesser. And he told me," she sighed, her grip on him tightening ever so slightly as she turned her face to his. Her lips whispered against the week old stubble he had stubbornly refused to shave as she continued. "My heart is mine. Only I get to choose who holds it, and how much of it they have. I gave little pieces of it to people over the years: my parents, Fergus, Oren and Oriana, Dog. Ser Gilmore and Nan. Barkspawn. Leliana and Sten and Wynne and Morrigan and Shale. Even Zevran and Oghren, Maker help me." She chuckled and Alistair couldn't help the wry smile it pulled from him. "The Cailen I met then and the one I met at Ostagar, they never would have earned the whole thing. No one ever has, no one but you."

The kiss is a surprise to him, truth be told. Even though he's the one initiating it, even though he's the one spinning her around to face him and pushing her back against the wall, even though it's his hands clumsy and fumbling as they cup her face. It's a surprise, because he didn't think he could fall any deeper in love with her but here it is. This frank, honest admission that he's the only one - Maker, _the only one_ \- she's ever given her whole heart to makes him melt. Makes him desperate to give her something, _anything_ more than what he already has. She deserves so much, this fierce and brave woman. He's given her everything of him that has any worth and still she smiles softly and embraces him and tells him he's the _only one_. She deserves the throne, the crown, jewels and silks and the whole entire world at her feet and here she is, returning his kiss with equal hunger, settling for whatever short life they can eek out as Grey Wardens.

Only she's not settling. Not Elissa. When she says this is all she wants, he knows it's true. She repeats that she didn't want the crown, and he believes her. She says again that he's the only one, and he can only swallow the words greedily before echoing the sentiment. It occurs to him briefly, the thought flickering uncomfortably at the edge of his consciousness, that his not-quite-uncle Eamon had talked to Elissa about making him King. He had probably told her something similar to what he'd told Alistair. The old man had probably argued that they could have ruled together, King and Queen and Grey Warden both. She would have scoffed, he bets. Shaken her head and brushed aside the stray wisps of hair that escaped whatever confines she would have trapped them in for the action. No, his Elissa is not a woman that warms a throne and bears the weight of a crown. Not when there are things she can yet do with her own two hands.

As suddenly as he had sprung the kiss upon her, he pulled away. Her eyes are warm though, her smile unwavering. "I don't deserve you. I can't even, 'Lis, how am I supposed to repay you for everything you've given me?" Her hand trails against the persistent stubble before it loops behind his neck and pulls him back in.

"You don't, silly. You just love me as long as you can, and I'll do the same."


	34. In Black Ink My Love May Still Shine Bright

**9:41 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

The dwarf from the hall has a light step that belies his appearance. She nodded in glum appreciation as he handed over a flask, choosing to remain standing where she preferred to stay on the ground, slumped in the shade. Out of the way and almost unnoticeable.

"I'm Varric."

She handed the flask back with little more than a tilt of her head.

"Hawke and I go way back, in Kirkwall."

He upended the flask, nose wrinkling at the discovery that she'd drained it dry in short order.

"We met Warden Alistair there. He had some amazing stories about you and the Blight. Pretty sure he was making half of it up, but so does any great storyteller."

That was the last of his Orzammar 8:23 blend, potent, and she hadn't even blinked, _Maker_.

"Hawke always said he was one of the good ones."

Her silence was clearly starting to irritate him. Probably used to having an engaged audience for his stories, hanging off every word. But she's traveled with a story-teller and a liar before, and Alistair was better than the both of them at fixing her moods. The Warden-Commander huffed out a sigh, reaching over to pat the hound at her side. "He is," and her voice almost cracked, still not used to thinking of him as _was_ , not _is_. "The best."

"If you need another drink, put it on my tab at the tavern."

An appreciative nod was the only answer he got. His quill would go unsatisfied by the Hero of Fereldan today; this story is too much of a tragedy.


	35. Exitus Acta Probat

**9:32 Dragon, Cloudreach**

 

Soldier's Peak is not what they remember.

Where they once saw wan daylight illuminating a crumbling structure, all jagged edges and rot, now they see it for the fortress it could be. The courtyard is a bustle of activity, no trace of dust or undead stirring. Just commerce; the metallic _thunk_ of hammer on anvil; the _snick_ of a blade being sharped; the laughter and joy of merchants peddling their wares. Even the smell has changed from fresh snow and decay to spring melt and crackling fires, warm bread and meat bubbling in a stew pot.

There is life here again, time moving on without them.

Alistair lets her talk to Avernus alone, exploring the grounds for himself, seeing the changes Levi and his family have made. Barkspawn shadows him. She's gone to try to convince the old Warden to join them at the Vigil, but he's pretty sure it's a fools errand. They should be trying to make Soldier's Peak a Grey Warden stronghold again, not focusing solely on Amaranthine. But Weisshaupt does not know about Avernus and according to Elissa, holding an Arling in Fereldan is far too tempting a prize to split focus from.

The politics confound him, and he's not afraid to admit it. But Elissa? She has the head and heart for it. She knows how to talk to everyone, from her fellow Wardens to the knights, from the farmers to the Banns that swear her fealty. If he didn't share her bed most nights, he'd be amazed she ever had time to sleep with all the meetings she takes and problems she has to solve just to keep the Arling going, never mind taking care of her duties as Commander of the Grey. But she's Elissa Cousland. The ability to command, to lead, it's buried in her blood. She was born to it. Alistair still hasn't figured out what his blood has given him.

There are children at the Peak now, Dryden nephews and nieces, and they rush him in the front courtyard when he returns. It's where Elissa finds him later, with Avernus unmoved by her appeals and the weight on her shoulders that little bit heavier. She watches as the children pelt Alistair with snowballs, screeching in glee as they chase Barkspawn to and fro.

They don't stay much longer than the one night but it's enough. Soldier's Peak has seen enough bloodshed and sadness since it was built. They leave it to Levi and his family, to the children. It has no need for Grey Wardens now.

Weisshaupt need never know that life has returned to the old fortress.


	36. Towards Our Distant Rest

**9:40 Dragon, ???**

 

They have argued long and endless, but they can delay no longer. He helps her with the saddle bags, pets Barkspawn one last time. _Take care of her_ , fiercely said. Kisses her, long and hard and desperate.

Her grip is tight, unrelenting, holding him close. They are tired from a long night of no sleep, worry and love and nothing between them, her hands fisted in his hair and him determined to commit every line of her to memory as she moved beneath him. Gasps and moans doing little to obscure the bitter song crawling through them.

"This is the last time. After this... I'm never leaving your side again."

Alistair smiles, because his love is true. He smiles because she has never broken her word to him.

He smiles, because she needs him to be stronger than she is right now.


	37. Pull Me Closer And Know

**9:32 Dragon, Bloomingtide**

 

After their pre-dawn trek to finish their journey to the Vigil, Alistair led the four new recruits through the main hall, turning into the kitchen as much out of early morning habit as lured by the smell of fresh bacon. He broke out into a grin at the sight of Elissa, back to him, cracking eggs into a bowl with deft hands, tossing the shells into another bowl.

"Morning. You're up early." He started shedding his packs and weapons against the wall, gaze constantly flicking over to her as if to relearn the curve of her body. The others followed his lead, their focus more on the food than the woman preparing it.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, smile matching his own, relief evident in her flint eyes if you knew to look for it. "I heard the arrival bell, thought you might be hungry," she indicated the heaped plate of bacon beside her as she scrambled the eggs, preparing them for the pan next.

The recruits milled behind him, murmuring in assent as their leader nodded. They were a mix of ages and builds, and the youngest couldn't be much more than 15. He knows they aren't what she expected to see, but they both know better than to turn away a potential ally right now. "You are a blessing, 'Lis."

"I'll say," chimed in a rough, bearded recruit. "Didn't know the Wardens bothered with women, but it's nice to see they know where they belong." His smile was leering, bordering on lecherous as he stared, unknowingly, at the Warden-Commander in front of him.

She shared a look with Alistair and shrugged, but he spoke before she could. "Elissa is the best Grey Warden I know, Thurn. She can take you down in a second if she needs to, so don't even think about it."

Elissa chuckled, keeping her attention on the food in front of her. Thurn had a few years and several pounds on her and from his build, favoured a two-handed weapon, but it wasn't the first time a new recruit had been surprised at who was in charge around the keep. In many ways, she enjoyed dragging it out, letting them dig their own graves, as it were.

"A woman like that can take me down any day," the new recruit guffawed, sliding onto the bench at the modest dining table that served for most informal meals in the Vigil. "Especially if she wants to be on top." The other recruits, to their credit, kept quiet, clearly not as comfortable as Thurn with the idea of pursuing that particular train of thought.

"You know," she interjected before Alistair could bristle, "there are easier ways to tell me you'd prefer to continue eating cold, charred rabbit for your meals." She pulled the eggs off the heat, motioning for her fellow Warden, ignoring the grumbles from him and Thurn. "Lend me a hand, would you?"

He pushed one of the other recruits forward with him, pointing out the plates and cups and instructing him to set the table for the six of them before slicing the loaf of bread she tossed him. "I'm not _that_ bad a cook."

The four men hemmed and hawed at his defense, and he frowned, grumbling even more to himself over the counter until Elissa nudged him with her hip, sliding next to him, finished with the eggs. "You do have the unfortunate habit of making everything a uniform grey colour, that's all," she slipped the knife from his hands, replacing it with a jug of milk. "Go sit, love." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, delighting in the blush that spread as a result.

The show of affection did not go unnoticed by Thurn, who slapped the table with his palm, grinning wildly at the pair. "You could have just said she was yours, Warden. I'm open to sharing! Though she might change her mind after one night with me."

Alistair did his best impression of a glare as he sat down, handing the jug over to one of the other men. Plonking the plate of bacon down in the center and motioning for the rest of them to seat themselves, she started plating up the eggs, keeping the larger portion for her fellow Warden. "When I was younger, my nan loved to tell me a story about the too proud Mabari, Hohaku, are you familiar?" The men shook their heads as she finished serving and slipped gracefully onto the bench next to Alistair, across from Thurn. "I'll spare you, but the moral is that how you treat the smallest of us is remembered by the biggest."

Thurn snorted, leveraging his bulk to tower over the two Wardens from across the table. "Seems to me you could benefit from a larger man."

Alistair's scowl blackened further, but she laid a hand on his thigh, shaking her head. "Experience would lend me to believe that when a man feels the need to brag, it's because he's rather... lacking."

The recruits laughter was interrupted by Veral poking his head into the kitchen. "Ah, Warden-Commander, there you are!" Instantly, the men stilled, staring at the two Wardens. Neither gave an indication which of them was being addressed as the schenshal continued. "We've heard from some of the local farms about the supply lines, and there's a bird from Orzammar when you have a chance." He grabbed a plate for himself, heaping it with the bacon, sighing softly at the empty egg pan before stealing a few slices of bread for himself. "I'll let the others know the recruits are here, get them on the training schedule," he bowed slightly with a rare grin before leaving again.

Ignoring the recruits whispers and looks, the two Wardens ate; Elissa with her left hand, keeping her hold on Alistair's leg. He'd been away for two weeks gathering this bunch, and she missed his touch. Missed touching him. Missed him.

It wasn't Thurn who broke the silence, to her surprise. "You're the Warden-Commader? You're the one in charge?" The smallest and no doubt youngest of the four asked, staring incredulously at Alistair. Elissa broke out in giggles at the shock registering on her fellow Warden's face at the question, knowing that behind the words was the unspoken question; _How does someone like you get put in charge?_

It was a question she'd asked herself before, one that Alistair was always happy to answer for her. _Because you're good at it. Because people will follow you. Because people believe in you. Because you killed the Archdemon. Because you've the name, the upbringing, the poise, the grace and beauty._ Because, he liked to tell her, _because you're the strongest person I know._

He was always rewarded for his honesty, and she squeezed his leg reassuringly as she answered the recruit for him. "No, Alistair prefers to follow off the field. On it, though, he's in charge." There it was, the glint of recognition, the slight shade of shame on Thurn's face as the recruits murmured to themselves.

"So you-"

"You're-"

"I didn't think-"

She waved the comments aside, eyes fixed on Thurn as she rose from the table, an unspoken challenge buried in their depths. "If you have an issue taking orders from me, you can leave. If you still want to be a Grey Warden, stay and train. Take the Joining, and then we'll talk. If you still intend on bedding me," she shrugged, looking at Alistair, "or any other woman here, you're welcome to try, but I think you'll find we need more than a few lewd suggestions to interest us." Elissa slipped her arms around her fellow Warden, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "And Alistair doesn't share."

The smile on Alistair's face and the flush creeping up his neck that accompanied it would have been reward enough, but the contrition on Thurn's face was icing on the cake. She ruffled her lovers hair before pulling away, leaving him with the recruits to deal with the letters. As she left, she heard the young boy who'd mistaken Alistair for the Warden-Commander whisper _lucky_ under his breath.

Yes. Yes she was.


	38. You Know I'd Rather Drown

**9:41 Dragon, ???**

 

**Letter locked in a study drawer, Castle Cousland, sealed with a laurel wreath and griffon rampart**

 

> _Fergus,_
> 
> _I won't be returning. I'm sorry._
> 
> _We knew leaving Ferelden had risks, but it's not that. I actually got close to finishing that mission. Frustratingly close. I wish I could have told you more, even now, but it's still a Grey Warden matter and the Order guards it's secrets well. ~~I know I should have written to you more while I was away but~~_
> 
> _I'm not coming back, brother. I wish I could. I wish I could see Highever one last time, meet this new wife of yours. I wish I could go back. But I can't. Alistair needs me, and I beg you to understand what that means. I cannot leave him, not now. Not after everything. We are family by blood, you and I, but Alistair is my family too. ~~He is everything~~_
> 
> _I would say don't worry about me, but that is a fools errand. Just know that as I sit here, I am of sound body and mind. There simply isn't anyone else capable of this task._
> 
> _Be well, be brave, be strong. Be everything father and mother knew you could be._
> 
> _I love you,_
> 
> _Elissa_


	39. Just Wanna Take What's Mine

**9:37 Dragon, Harvestmere**

 

He's in Kirkwall. Was in Kirkwall. Her heart sinks and her face is stone when they hear of the unrest, the Qunari, the bloodshed. She misses her love, but she trusts him to come home.

When he does, she tastes the salt on his skin. He's almost bruising with his attentions, cornering her without a word as soon as he can. Dust from the road clings to him and sweat marks dirty trails down tanned skin. His hair is damp and clings to his forehead, hours confined by his helm all but obliterating the otherwise resilient cowlick. The stubble he usually curates is more beard than either care for.

But he's _home_ , and Maker, she missed him.

They don't talk about it, the absences. The concern when either has to travel without the other. She knows he tells the other warriors to watch her left side, that she's too used to his shield being there. She isn't above telling her fellow rogues to keep his flank clear and take out archers first, always. It's enough. It has to be enough. Even when something like a little Qunari invasion happens in the Free Marches, _Andraste please_ , it has to be enough.

It always feels like enough when they crash back into each other. Sometimes it's clumsy, awkward, a reminder of - ironically - simpler times. Other times it's this, the Warden-Commander of Vigil's Keep pinned against Voldrik's prized walls, laughter and tears spilling from her in equal measure as Alistair steals kiss after kiss. He's alive; she's alive. He loves her; she loves him. He's lucky, _Maker blessed_ to have her. She wouldn't trade a single second of her life - not even the ones where she left her parents behind - for what she has now.

They have each other.

There are sly glances in their direction, chuckles and coin trading hands. The men and women of the Keep know better than to interrupt though, and they leave their Commander to her - _ahem_ \- debriefing by the senior Warden.


	40. The Good Die Young, The Strong Are Gonna Survive

**9:33 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

Part of him feels silly, making the trek out here. Dragging Fereldan's Commander of the Grey with him to a remote spot to stand at an unremarkable patch of ground in silence for a few hours. But he had promised.

Alistair Theirin keeps his promises, no matter what.

She sits by the fire, tending it and the rabbit slowly roasting above it. She lets him take all the time he needs. Years together now and still she has nothing but patience for him.

_Is there anyone I could love more than her?_

He has to laugh, a rough and broken sound as the evening deepens around the pair of them. No, the three of them. Well four, if you count Barkspawn, ever vigilant by his lady's feet. It's silly. So silly. But here they are, two humans, a hound, and...

And a memory.

There's a family in the local village he pays to tend the area, keep it clear of scrub. To plant flowers in spring. To help him keep that memory alive.

So he stands where he's stood before, a thousand and one things he wishes he could say to a man he wishes had never left. A father figure he wishes he could have spent more time with. A mentor he wishes he could have learned more from. A friend, gone too soon.

_You brought her into my life, Duncan, and you'll never know how lucky we all were for that._

Fereldan is healing, slowly. The scars of the blight recede, towns are rebuilt, life moves on. Even Castle Cousland stands strong once again, though she refused the offer to stop for the night there.

Not all the memories they hold onto are good ones.

_You would be proud of us. We are helping people, working hard to make things better. It's not easy, but Elissa, she... She makes everything effortless. I feel like I can do anything so long as she supports me. It's stupid, I know. We don't need anyone's approval but I, I just wanted to tell you, I wanted you to know how much I love her, how much I need her._

There's a long road ahead of them, still. Moments like this are rare, he knows.

But Alistair had promised to bury Duncan in Highever, and to bring Elissa with him at least once when he visited.

He keeps his promises.

And Elissa, his sweet 'Lis, she keeps his heart.


	41. Ask For Forever When The End Is In Sight

**9:41 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

Cullen found her halfheartedly trying to get drunk in the Herald's Rest, and she sighed when he sat beside her. At least he brought fresh drinks; she was starting to feel a little guilty at how much she was putting on the dwarf's tab. "All I need are the Wardens. I didn't come to fight."

He chuckled wryly, eyeing her blades and then the Mabari snoozing at her feet. "And yet here you sit, fully armed, with a war hound at your beck and call."

"Barkspawn goes where I go. And it's not very safe, wearing this armor these days. Especially when you disagree with your fellow higher-ups. I thought Alistair would at least have told you that much," she shrugged, downing the last of the ale in front of her more for something to do than for the taste. She wondered if she had any ritewine left. Alistair had, but- She scowled.

"It's not that the Inquisitor isn't sympathetic-"

"Fuck sympathy, Cullen," she cut him off, her voice devoid of emotion.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as she took one of the mugs he'd brought. He can't even imagine what she thinks of him and she isn't sure herself. She remembers the scared boy, the same age as her and Alistair, begging them for death and annulment in the Circle Tower. She remembers fear and desperation. She remembers the waving crack of hope in his voice, even when he didn't believe in her. She remembers the awe on his face when she came back down from the Harrowing Chamber, Irving in tow, all of them bloodied worse than when they went but _alive_ , standing, offering him a hand. Alistair had helped him stumble down to the doors and she wasn't supposed to see, she knows, she wasn't supposed to know that the former Templar recruit understood something she never would. She had always meant to ask but the chance had never come and it wasn't until now, sitting across from another former Templar that she remembers Alistair's gauntleted hands gently pressing a vial of lyrium into Cullen's own shaking grasp, the grim sympathy on his face as the then-Templar simply stared at the draught. She hadn't loved him then, not yet, not completely, but that small moment taught her something about the man who trailed behind her, taught her it was okay to see behind his walls.

Fuck that sympathy, though.

"This was supposed to be the last time we were apart." Her voice doesn't shake, just utters the words like any other fact. It's the first time she's said that out loud since she left him. The first time she's let herself think it since they were parted. She took a long pull of the drink without checking what it was first, wrinkling her nose in disgust to find it's just beer. "Am I going to get the Wardens?"

"It's not up to me," he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Did you want to- Why did you come to Skyhold, Warden-Commander?"

"I'm not sure how many times I have to say I'm here for the Wardens you rescued from Adamant," she bites back, finishing the drink. He hasn't touched the other mug yet, so she traded them, ignoring his frown. She doubts there's a single expression he could make that would see her take him seriously, not when she remembers him young and broken. Never mind curly-haired, and she tilted her head as she regarded the man he had become. It's odd, that's for certain. But the passage of time changes all things. For better or worse, only more time will tell. "I need them to do something for me," she confided at last. "The thing I was working on, I need them to help with it."

"It just seems like you came to... Yell." She knows what he's suggesting, and he's somewhat right. A shrug is her initial response, still intent on sizing him up. He's treading a line between familiarity and formality, unsure where he falls, and she's in no mood to make it easy on him.

"Have I raised my voice, Commander? I'll admit the show of force might have been unnecessary, but surely you'll forgive the lack of manners considering I've been traveling alone with Barkspawn for many months now. Over a year, actually." She made a disgusted noise upon discovering his cup was also just beer, but drank deep anyway.

"Evelyn isn't used to being bested, never mind quite so publicly, but I'm sure she'll get over it. You are the Hero of Ferelden, after all, there's hardly any shame in losing to one of the best."

"And a valuable ally if I can be placated, I'm sure." She doesn't miss the look in his eye, the same one she saw earlier in the hall, or the use of the Inquisitor's first name. She takes another swig before pressing, "do all you Chantry boy former Templars fall for strong-willed noble women, or is it more of a Ferelden thing in general?" Cullen treated her with flushed cheeks, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, all the confirmation she needed.

"The thing you were working on," he tried to change the subject.

She let him, not wanting to sully her depression with another's happiness. "A cure, for us. Him and I, the others. A way out of the Calling, so the Deep Roads don't have to be the end. So that this... Didn't have to be the end." The pinpricks at the edge of her eyes were a surprise to her; she'd thought herself incapable of crying any more and she blinked them away quickly before he could see. "Some advice, Cullen?"

He shrugged, indicating she could continue, and she rose from the table in one graceful move that belied how much she'd had to drink. Warden stamina; it's good for more than beating up Darkspawn.

"Don't hold so tight."

  
Elissa didn't wait for him to catch her meaning, calling Barkspawn to her with a low whistle. He bounded to life, upsetting the table as he padded over to follow her out, and she scratched him behind the ear absentmindedly.

She called over her shoulder as they left, almost as an afterthought, "or hold tighter."

If she could, she'd have held tighter, she knows. Would have dragged him west with her, or stayed in Ferelden with him. Made him keep Barkspawn, instead of relenting to his insistence that he'd sleep better knowing she had the hound with her. Gone with him to Adamant, and dragged him kicking and screaming from the Fade herself if she had to, and to the Void with the Nightmare. Or stayed, as promised, going down together in one last brilliant blaze.

In the end, a tighter hold would have been better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So excited to finally get to this part, there are some little details in this section I've been dying to share! There aren't too many planned sections after this so we will see how much longer it takes to wrap all this up. Thanks for sticking with me! <3


	42. Find No Rest

**9:34 Dragon, Guardian**

 

The young recruit, they had decided, was not suited to life as a Warden. Alistair confessed that the boy had started following them as he passed through the West Hills and he hadn't the heart to dismiss him, so they allowed Devi to help the few staff they had at the keep. They let him join in the training drills when it didn't interfere with his assigned duties, and Elissa often sparred with him when it became clear that the weight of a longsword and shield was too much for the boy. He picked up the bow quicker than the blades she favoured, but he worked hard at whatever task he was set and had made many friends amongst the Wardens and staff in the time he had spent at the Vigil. As much as he trailed after Elissa like a little puppy when he could, he had his own follower. A young farmlad, given leave by his parents to help run the stables, Garret could often be found shadowing Devi when not at work.

Elissa was showing the boys how to aim a throwing knife as Alistair watched from the battlements, a goofy smile playing on his lips. It was something else, the patience and gentleness she was showing Devi and Garret, and he couldn't quite describe the way it made his chest tighten if anyone had asked. He fiddled with the buckles on his breastplate as heavy footfalls on the stone headed his way, his gaze not leaving her for a moment.

"Staring at the Warden-Commander again, I see."

He snorted, scuffing his boot against the crenelation in front of him. "What's it to you, Thurn?"

The older Warden shrugged, leaning against the wall next to him. "Just an observation, lad. You've been doing more looking than anything else lately, so I hear."

It was a simple comment, but it stung. The burden of command had always kept Elissa busy, and the time she'd been spending with Devi added to her day. His own duties when he was at the keep - the evening watch, training, kitchen and stable shifts, helping the masons clear out new rooms and reinforce the underground passages - all kept him equally occupied, leaving scant moments free. And those free moments rarely overlapped. It was almost enough to make him miss the Blight. "The boys are coming along."

"It's not the boys you're watching."

Despite the rocky start - Thurn was brash and lewd, far more abrasive than Oghren without the benefit of drink to temper or excuse it - the two had become friends. Once Thurn had passed his Joining, he was often sent along when Alistair had Darkspawn to track, and the senior Warden had gotten used to the other man's habits. He only sighed in response, watching Elissa laugh softly with the boys. "I miss her, sometimes. There aren't enough hours in the day, you know?"

"She's right there, lad. Quit your moping and go fuck her, already." The bigger man laughed gruffly, slapping Alistair on the back. "Bet she won't mind if you take her right there, give the rest of us something to talk about. Well, more than you two usually do, anyway."

He choked, as much from the words as the slap, and coughed as he tried to regain his balance. "No, no thank you. Did I hit my head? We don't talk about... this. Nope."

"Oh? Maybe I'll go offer then. Heard she's been talking about needing her bed warmed lately." It was intended as a joke, but Thurn knew he'd overstepped as soon as the words left his mouth and didn't get angry about the punch Alistair threw in response. He just laughed it off, cracking his jaw to make sure there was no lasting damage, and slapped the other Warden on the back again. Softer this time. "At least go talk to the Warden-Commander, lad. Maybe find an excuse to get alone, hm? Do you both some good."

Alistair grumbled the whole way off the battlements to the sparring ring.


	43. Love Alone Can Lend You Loyalty

**9:30 Dragon, ???**

The fire popped and hissed, spilling light around the campsite. She's sleeping, fitfully, bothered as always by the dreams that encroach on her. The dwarf is snoring. Loudly. The Qunari is on watch with the assassin and the witch has yet to turn in. The sister sleeps lightly, nose wrinkling in irritation every now and again when the snores filter in. The mage is knitting, half asleep herself. The stone beast is still with them, for some reason. It's always complaining, and he'll never understand why it stays.

Then again, maybe he does understand. His Lady is worthy of great respect. His Lady saved his life without asking for anything in return. His Lady let him follow. His Lady gives him purpose. Maybe she gives them all purpose. He loves his Lady, maybe they all love her too.

He snuffles softly as he leans into her, offering warmth and shielding her from the look of concern on cheese breeches face should she wake. She will, when the dream gets too much. She always does, no matter how hard he tries. Cheese breeches is the same, when he sleeps. They smell the same, too. Something dark and sour underneath their human-ness, something that pulls the two of them together. It smells the way the Darkspawn taste, and he does not like it.

But he loves his Lady, and he stays. She named him anew, and it's not even close to what the Ash Warriors called him but he likes it, likes the way it sounds when she calls him. She knows the whistles, the clicks, all the commands that let him help her the way she needs in a fight and out. So he stays. Her party grows, and he stays because none of them know how to help her the way he does. And his Lady, she needs help. There's a sorrow in her none of the others see the way he does. She knows loss and it's left her hollow and no matter how hard he tries her smile still falters as the days drag on.

He tries to help.

She's awake with a start and he's there, nose pressing into the palm of her hand as she reaches for him. He's not her Dog, but he is her Barkspawn.

His Lady needs him, and he will be by her side until the end.


	44. So Why Won't The World Revolve Around Us?

**9:36 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

She's wounded.

A lucky hit from an ogre knocking her back into a wall, cracking ribs and stealing her breath but not her life. Not yet, but it's the closest she's come in a while. It's the closest he's seen her come since Fort Drakon, and it scares him more than he cares to admit.

He sits by her side, sullen and solemn, whispering words that come easy after all this time. Repeating things she knows, spinning old stories into something new and ludicrous. No one else is allowed to take his place, the Mabari guarding it when he is forced away by his duties and responsibilities. He comes back as fast as he can every time, uncaring what the others think or say. She is his greatest weakness and strength all in one and it has never bothered him who knows it.

When she stirs, finally, eyes slitting open in the harsh light, he grins, pretending those aren't tears on his face. She's kind enough to ignore them as he chuckles. "Going to spend all day in bed, love? What must the recruits think of their Warden-Commander?" Her smile is strained and small but it's sweet. So sweet.

She's wounded, one more scar, one more story. The Hero of Fereldan fights for another day.

And he's not scared anymore.


	45. There Will Never Be A Gold Crown

**9:41 Dragon, August**

 

Skyhold is impressive, but he misses Vigil's Keep, the coastline, Fereldan air, the Warden-Commander's office (and bed.) The Vigil was home for as long as his Commander (his love, his light, _his_ ) had held it. Skyhold is someone elses and though he is welcome, he does not belong.

It even _feels_ different. Something in the air, a warmth trapped within the walls that the Frostbacks in winter does not share. It's somewhat unsettling, more so than the Calling or the itch under his skin when Darkspawn are close. Maybe it's just him, though. Maybe he's too used to the dark and damp these days. Maybe it's not about the walls at all, but who they should contain.

Maybe it's that simple.

(There's always a warmth in his blood when she's close, something in the Taint that responds to her. He misses that, and there is no substitute.)

It's nice to see Leliana again, to catch up with Varric and Hawke (and in person! He's so spoiled now, after so long with minimal human contact.) Even Morrigan, though he'd be hard pressed to admit it. He hasn't felt brave enough to ask about the child. It's always been easier to stay away, to pretend that it had been a fever dream, a nightmare, a parting gift from the connection with the Archdemon. He sees him sometimes, in the courtyard, in the small Chantry garden. And he keeps his distance. (Would she be such a coward, in his place?)

Blackwall seems to share that sentiment in regards to his presence. He's tried, pulled out the old Theirin charm and everything else and yet... The Grey Warden avoids him. It's curious, but he has other mysteries on his mind amongst other things to keep him from bothering the old Warden, much as he may want to. After all, the only other Grey Warden he knows to be capable of ignoring the Calling... Well. Dwelling on where she might be at any given moment of time is a dangerous thing to get swept up in. The rest of the Inquisitors companions are friendly enough but the only place he he finds himself comfortable, the only place that actually feels anything like safe is Cullen's office.

The ex-Templar doesn't seem to mind the incursion of a Warden camped out by his fireplace during the day, thankfully. He catches up on his reading (though it's mostly the same handful of letters he pours over) and they trade stories and drink tea and spar (and she'd _love_ this, to see him falling into old patterns, but she's not here, not this time.) He doesn't try to fill the silence with this Commander, doesn't have to. They understand each other in small ways, understand the love of a good book, understand a need for a nip of something stronger in their tea as dusk falls, understand that the night is long and dark and lonely. Cullen, more than anyone else here, understands what Alistair sees when he thinks of his Commander, not this Commander. Cullen saw her that day at Kinloch; proud and weary, battle-spent and determined, fierce and fiery. Cullen saw her do the impossible (one of a thousand times to be sure, but impressive none-the-less; Kinloch had been hell and Cullen bore some of the worst of it) and survive and keep going. Cullen understands that Alistair misses his love not just because she is his love. They have their Inquisitor but she is not and never will be anything like Elissa Cousland.

Staying in the office, safe as it may feel, becomes dangerous.

It's easier to let Hawke keep him busy. Hawke, with her wicked sense of humour and absolute sense of purpose and right and wrong. Hawke, who is everything she was ever promised to be as the Champion and nothing, absolutely nothing like her sister. He misses Bethany as much as he misses the rest of the motley crew that called the Vigil home with his Commander, of course. But up here, far removed from the place (and woman) he called home, it's not worth it to get lost in how things used to be and who used to be by his side in the fight.

He lets Hawke take charge the way his Commander used to, and it's easier.

Hawke says jump, so he does. Hawke says investigate this, he does. Hawke says head into the Western Approach, and he packs up the meager belongings he's been dragging with him since he left his Commander and thanks the Inquisitor for the horses.

He leaves Skyhold, and it isn't hard. He rides out from the walls and there's no sadness, no sense of never being able to return. It doesn't matter, in the end, because Skyhold is not where he belongs. His Commander, she's somewhere out there, doing her best (which is far more than anyone else is capable of) and it's hard, not knowing how much distance there is between them. It's hard, wanting to believe that this Hawke and Trevelyan are as capable of the impossible as a Cousland, _his_ Cousland. It's hard, being a Grey Warden in a world that doesn't want them. It's hard, the never-ending fight.

It's hard, trying to save the world without her.


	46. An Ocean Of Sorrow Does Nobody Drown

**9:30 Dragon, Bloomingtide**

 

Ser Jory is the happiest Alistair has ever seen him as he talks to the new recruit. She's from Highever, and they clearly know each other. Daveth looks equally chipper, though his gaze isn't anywhere near as respectful.

"She's a Lady, capital 'L', bet you a crown."

Alistair glanced at the thief, eyebrow quirked. He's not risking a gold piece _or_ shiny headgear around him. "How do you know?" he questions instead, even though he can tell too. It's something in the way she stands, carries her head, looks everyone in the eye. This woman is noble-born for sure.

Funny, too, from what he gathered in their brief conversation. Slow to trust, though, not that he blames her. Duncan didn't tell him the whole story, told him it could wait, but the warning was enough. There's something in her smile that doesn't ignite in her eyes, a hardness in the flint blue gaze that someone her age shouldn't have.

It's a little unnerving to think that some great tragedy just ripped it's way through her life and here she stands, listening patiently to Ser Jory wax poetical about missing his wife and the fields of home. She hasn't told him she left that home in flames and somehow, Alistair doesn't think she will. She isn't about to ruin what hope Jory holds on to. He finds himself admiring that about her.

"Because, _Warden_ ," the way Daveth says it always sounds like an insult, and he rolled his eyes as the thief continues, "nobles never look down at the dirt. That one's kept her gaze up ever since she stepped foot into camp. Always up at the flags and shields, never lower."

It's true, Alistair realizes. At first he had thought she had been looking for the Cousland laurel but that wouldn't make sense since only the one small group had arrived from Highever and been sent into the Kokari Wilds before she had arrived. Duncan would have told her as much and yet still... She was looking for something, someone.

For reasons he couldn't put into words, he found himself hoping she didn't find who she was looking for. He wasn't sure it would end well for anyone.


	47. A Home In Each Melody

**9:41 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

"Oi."

_Maker's breath_. It's starting to feel like everyone in this damned place wants to track her down, and it's not helping the humming in he head. The sunlight makes her squint as she stares up from the tome in her hands but she can still make out the forms of the four in front of her. Madame de Fer is perhaps the most recognizable, though overshadowed by the hulking Qunari hovering in the background. Cassandra shares her family's cheekbones, and the begrudging look of admiration on her face is one Elissa is determined to remember. The elf, however, shares none of the others apparent hesitation.

"You're the one, right? The frikkin' Hero of sticking pointy things into big roaring dragon mouths, yeah?"

"Skull."

"Huh?"

"The skull. Between the eyes; that's where I stabbed the Archdemon. Not the mouth."

A beat, then a cackle escaped from the blonde as she threw herself onto the bench beside Elissa, ignoring the annoyed sound Barkspawn made from under it. "So you're the real deal, even without a glowy bit?"

"Darling, do show a little decorum when addressing Lady Cousland, won't you?"

"Pish tits, _Vivvy_ , if Cassy-wassy doesn't care 'bout her titles, why should anyone else?"

"As I've tried telling Varel, you'll be here all day if you spout them all off, never mind if we have to go around the group here. Warden-Commander will suffice if you need to address me. Was there something in particular you needed?" Elissa shut the leather-clad book with a snap, causing Sera to jump back with a giggle, her fingers too close for comfort. _Bloody rogues._

"Cassy-wassy wanted to size you up! See if the stories are true!"

"I did not!" The Nevarran spluttered as Vivienne tittered into her hand. If anyone is sizing her up, though, it's Iron Bull. She spent enough time with Sten to know how it feels to be appraised and found wanting by a Qunari.

But it's fine. Let him think she's past her prime. This Qunari is no _kadan_ to her, and he's part of the reason why hers is gone. To the Void with them all, Alistair and Barkspawn were the only ones that ever stayed.

"Still not ten feet tall, still don't shoot lightning bolts from my eyes. Don't even glow. So no, I'm not much like the stories tell," she shrugged, only a little satisfied at the glint of sun off her silverite hitting Iron Bull in the good eye. "Now that I've disappointed, was there anything else?"

"You're far from a disappointment, my dear."

She snorted, earning herself a flicker of a scowl from the Enchanter. "Admit it. You all had a pretty painting in your heads of what the Hero of Fereldan is supposed to look and behave like. Much like the image the people out there paint of your Inquisitor, I don't measure up and I'm happy not to."

"I like you," Sera grinned, edging closer. "You're all sharp and pointy bits with your words and your knives. Don't have to glow to be a big hero."

"Sera," the Qunari cautioned, eye fixed on the pair of them on the bench. As if she hadn't noticed the elf trying to nick her book again. Elissa slipped it back into her pack as Barkspawn stirred under her again. "Maybe you should leave now and let the ladies handle it."

"Leave yourself! Other Wardy-den was all moon-eyed for this one, yeah? I want-"

Elissa doesn't care what she wants. She's suddenly tired and oh-so _done_ with this conversation. Standing up distracts Sera from whatever the thought was, and she's all manners as she curtsies to the group. "Madame de Fer, Lady Pentaghast, Iron Bull, Sera," she acknowledged each in turn, more than a little amused internally by the apparent surprise that she knows who they are after so long removed from society, high or otherwise. "If you don't mind, I think I had better take Barkspawn for a walk. I doubt anyone wants him relieving himself so close to the training grounds."

Her comment gets another cackle from Sera as she whistled for her hound and he slipped out from under the bench, tongue lolling as he pressed into her side. It's reassuring, the weight and warmth, the only thing she's had to hold on to for so long and her smile is genuine as she looks at her beloved pooch.

The four watch her go, unsure how this interaction changes their opinions of the great Commander of the Grey, defender of Fereldan, destroyer of the Fifth Blight. Attention solely on Barkspawn, Elissa doesn't catch the way Iron Bull is looking at her, the grin on his face as he notices a crack in her walls. The Hero isn't all stone after all, it seems.


	48. I See Something More Beautiful Than The Stars

**9:33 Dragon, Haring**

 

She makes no secret of it and Maker preserve him, he loves her all the more for it. There are titters, murmurs, whispers and gasps, but it doesn't stop her from grinning her wicked grin or sliding her fingers down the Griffon-emblazoned chestpiece he's wearing. She always looks good in Warden blue and he's at her mercy in front of the crowd.

_To the Void with them_ , she had muttered under her breath before she kissed him. She meant it, he knows. The world could burn around them so long as he stood by her side. They could stare into the Abyss itself and she would still laugh and entwine her hand in his. They could face a literal army of Archdemons and Elissa would probably just shrug and ask if he was ready, waiting for him to make a joke about their latest horrific situation.

Orlesians certainly didn't scare her.

Or him, not really. It's the multiple forks that's throwing him off, he swears. Dear old dad and the assorted other half-sort-of-not-really-family, smirking down on them from the portrait lined walls. It's the shifty looking lute player setting him on edge. She smiled. Kissed him again without regard for the gossip she's creating. She doesn't play the game, not the Grand one the Orlesian Court entertains and not the one Anora keeps trying to drag them into. She plays her own game, and he finds he rather enjoys it.

After all, he's the one winning.

It's not the first time Anora has dragged him to the capital under one pretense or another. Elissa is a loud enough voice in the Bannorn as the Commander of the Grey even without the Arling of Amaranthine under her control, and Fergus is all too happy to let his displeasure known as he rebuilds Highever. Anora is not a popular Queen, but she is smart. She knows she needs both Couslands on her side, even if she doesn't know how to win them over properly. He'd tried telling her she should probably start by being nicer to her technically-half-brother-in-law, but that advice had been disregarded.

She had also ignored the suggestion that they should serve a nice cheese platter though, so at least she was an equal opportunity dream destroyer.

He has never liked it when the summons come. He doesn't like how Anora makes a spectacle of it. He doesn't like the way she insists he affirm, over and over, time and again, that he has no interest in the throne. He doesn't like the way she makes them parade in front of visiting nobles as if they are a shiny trinket she's showing off. Fereldan's saviours, the Grey Wardens who had ended the Blight so spectacularly at Fort Drakon at the beck and call of the monarchy. Why did they let her keep the crown again?

But Maker, he loves the way Elissa stares her down. He loves the way she laughs a little too loudly when Anora asks for fealty as if he hasn't already sworn himself body and soul to his Warden, for him to set aside his blood-claim as if he had ever entertained thoughts of having it. The long dead ancestors on the walls of the castle mean nothing to him, not when he can look to his right and see the only life that means anything. He loves the way she slips her hand into his, pulls him aside often and not at all discreetly and distracts him from the pageantry. He loves the way she wasn't even invited this time but here she is, a kiss for every look that makes him feel uncomfortable, unwanted, out of place.

Her game is much more fun he concedes, taking another win.

 


	49. Before The Fall

**9:25 Dragon, Solace**

 

"Again."

She winced.

"Again."

"But I-"

"Again, Pup."

She sighed and clenched her fists. Breathed in. Out. In. Banished the exhaustion creeping into her bones.

Left front kick, right roundhouse, jab, cross, left hook, right uppercut.

"Again."

She obeyed.

"Again."

The command had softened, the voice issuing it more gentle. She nodded in return, repeating the exercise. A small grin played at the corners of her mouth as her opponent was forced back half a step as the roundhouse connected with an impressive _thwack_. He's not doing it to be mean, she had wanted this, but Maker, she's getting tired.

The creaking of the door is a distraction and her opponent manages to duck the jab, his own fist settling into her side with a soft _oomph_. Her instructors eyes narrow as he issues the command once more.

"It's no wonder people have been saying you have two sons now, Bryce."

"Nonsense, Rendon." The hard gaze vanished as he watched his Pup execute the series of moves, pride replacing it. "Elissa voiced an interest, and what kind of a father would I be to deny her?"

The newcomer snorted, his eyes flicking disparagingly over the two fighters in the ring. "A good one. Delilah is due to be introduced at court soon, did you know? Though she was saddened to learn that you had let Fergus run off to Antiva for the season."

The two continued bickering quietly, the words not loud enough to break through the _thuds_ of her punches and laboured breathing. Gilmore grinned openly behind his helmet as he turned aside her left hook. "You're distracted," he teased, her uppercut barely connecting with the padded block he was holding.

Flint eyes glanced over at the two men by the door as she reset her stance. _Again_ played in her head, her father's gentle insistence that she keep going. "I didn't think the Arl was going to be here for another hour or so."

"That's a man who knows how to keep you on your toes," he chuckled, shaking off the impact of the front kick, steadying himself to catch the roundhouse. "Who cares if he's early?"

"He doesn't like me." She made a face as she exhaled, putting a little more power than was necessary behind her cross.

The redhead grinned wider, laughing as Elissa frowned in response. "Don't be silly. Everyone loves you."

"Even you? Is that why you let me beat you up?" she retorted, catching him off guard with a hook in place of the uppercut. He groaned and laughed at the same time, glancing to see if the older men had noticed her cheap-shot.

If Bryce had noticed his daughter cheat he didn't let it show, still talking softly with Rendon Howe in the doorway. Gilmore let the pads slip from his hands, tugging the helmet from his head. His red hair was plastered to his skull, drawing a giggle from his small opponent for his appearance. He smiled back, exaggerating a bow. "Lady Cousland, I don't let you do anything. But yes, even I love you."

He winked as he said it, reaching out to help her unwrap her hands. He was still a young knight, barely two years her elder, and he didn't have the same reservations the rest of the household guard did when it came to teasing her. She tried to ignore the flip in her stomach, focusing instead on the disapproving look Arl Howe was giving her.

* * *

 

His Pup slipped into his office quietly, sneaking into the comfy chair by the fire with only the barest ruffle of her skirts and groan of wood to alert him to her presence. She was improving, and his smile didn't falter when it was met with her despondent look. She was never happy when the topic of marriage was brought up around her, though she was getting better at keeping the emotion off her face during conversation at least. She simply took after her mother too well, and for that Bryce would never fault his daughter, the littlest Sea-cub.

"Is there something wrong, Pup?" he prodded softly, well aware what had prompted this late night visit. He waited patiently, attention half on the papers in front of him as she stared out the window.

"Am I not a good daughter?"

The question is quiet, almost a whisper. He finds it hard to hide his frown from her. "Why would you think that, love?"

"Because," she sunk into herself, curling up in the chair, her chin resting on her knees as she kept her gaze out the window. "I don't like all the same things as Anora and Delilah. You let me fight with Gilmore and some of the other men. You let me help Nan in the kitchen and the farmers in the fields and-"

He held up a hand, hushing his daughter as he crossed into her field of vision. "You don't have to like the same things as everyone else, Pup. As for the fighting, do you not enjoy it anymore?"

Elissa's nose scrunched up as she thought about it before she slowly shook her head. "Sometimes, when you push me to actually hurt the person I'm sparring with. But no... I like it."

He chuckled softly, scooting her over so he could fit in the chair beside her. Elissa uncurled enough to lean into his side, and he placed an arm around her reassuringly. "Why is that, do you think? What it is you enjoy?"

"It's... Like a dance. It's rhythmic and challenging. Sometimes the tune changes and you have to adjust, figure out the new moves. It's not just about defeating the enemy in front of you, but accounting for the entire field."

"You like dancing, too."

"Yes..." She trailed off, staring up at her father, marveling at the way he could look so regal and approachable, all at once. A study in contradictions, him and her mother both. Soldier and Seawolf, Teyrn and Teyrna.

"Does it feel wrong to enjoy them both?"

He's testing her, she realized. There had never been an obligation for her to fight; she had been caught watching Fergus and Gilmore spar one day, and asked if she had wanted to join. It had always been voluntary. Likewise, there had never been any pressure to take lessons with Aldous and her mother. They were offered; it was up to her to accept or deny. It had always been at odds with what she had witnessed of her friends upbringings - Anora had nothing but complaints of endless lessons in embroidery and heraldry, and Delilah was equally unimpressed with her Antivan instructor's dry approach to etiquette. Elissa shook her head, a small smile starting to form. "No, but both hurt my feet sometimes."

He chuckled and her smile grew. "Pup, you are who you are. There will always be people who disagree with you; it's not about making them like you. It's about figuring out _why_ they disagree, and finding a way to co-exist for the benefit of all. Your mother and I could ask for no better daughter, of that I swear. You will be able to disarm a man on and off a battlefield, the way you are going. And both are important skills for a young lady, no matter what Rendon Howe might think. If anything he's the one doing Delilah a disservice, not letting her learn how to defend herself. Besides, he can't dislike you all that much if he's suggesting a match between you and Thomas."

Elissa didn't bother hiding the roll of her eyes at that and her father laughed again, pulling her in closer.

"You are who you are," he repeated, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "And the young woman you are growing into is wonderful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put off writing this because it was never my intention to go that far back, but it's been one of my favourite images of my Warden for a while. I have quite a few favourites though, to be fair. Do you guys have any? Let me know, because there's only ten or more so left to go! Fingers crossed you're feeling like the time investment is worth it! <3 (There's a young Alistair idea that keeps butting in when I work on the 9:41 sections so we will see if that goes anywhere for you, while we're at it. Gotta balance it out a little, right? :3)


	50. And The Cliff Side Crumbled 'Neath His Feet

**9:39 Dragon, Wintermarch**

 

She's supposed to cry, she knows. She should be sad. It's okay to be sad. it's okay to be human and _feel_ things.

But she can't make herself react that way. Not now, not ever.

Elissa slipped into the small chapel, all linen and leather and quiet. She wanted to be quiet. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to try and feel the way normal people feel when they get bad news.

She grieved wrong, even now. It hadn't ever _felt_ wrong before, though.

And she never got what she wanted she noted, grumbling silently to herself. The soft flicker of midnight candles revealed where Alistair had gotten to, praying silently at the altar. Bethany sat a few rows back, equally lost in her own contemplation. Other seats were taken by Amaranthine's knights, each holding vigil with the two Wardens. Without her silverite she hung back, half in the shadows as she watched. She knows how the conversation will go. He won't judge her for the stone-set of her face. He won't be annoyed at the facade of calm she projects.

Most of all, he will tell her it's not her fault.

Everything falling apart around them, and he will still smile that goofy smile and tell her she did her best.

Elissa has always been good at doing her duty, but now, this, after all she's seen and done, to still be on the losing side...

She clenched her fists and bowed her head as one of the knights whispered a greeting to her. Steffan. An older brother, a son, a husband. He left quietly, his grief on his face where hers will never sit. It was a hard ride from Weisshaupt even without the news. She should never have gone.

Here sits Felicity, an only daughter. Petyr, the middle son and hopeful groom. Wilson, Arnold, Ellis, Kiera, sons and daughters and sisters and brothers and _family_ , the last remaining.

Here stands the marble etched likeness of Andraste, smiling kindly at her supplicants and watching over them all. Here stands the Warden-Commander of Fereldan, carved of harder stone, no smile to ease the concerns of her subordinates.

Orders and personal feelings have slowly removed Grey Warden after Grey Warden from the Vigil until all that remained in garrison at any point was the Commander and her last hope. Bethany had returned a week ago from across the Waking Sea to find no shred of blue on the Vigil's walls, only the silverite arms of Amaranthine's guard. They had always been spread thin since Ostagar but near as she could tell, it was just the three of them left in Fereldan now.

She would laugh if she could find it ironic, but the bitter sting of not returning to Amaranthine in time still hurts.

There's a comfort in watching Alistair pray, though. Her dedicated little Chantry boy, devout when he needed it, flippant when he didn't. She had always found it interesting, that he could keep his faith and question it in the same breath. She needed that certainty now, but moving from the half light of the doorway felt wrong. Coming to the chapel had been a mistake, like so many before. She didn't belong here, not when she couldn't feel things the right way.

So she stayed and watched and had the conversation silently in her head. _It's not your fault._

The First Warden had demanded her presence, so she had gone. There wasn't enough of a Darkspawn presence to be concerned about, the Blight well and truly over, the Thaw dealt with, and Fereldan could manage without the Warden-Commander for a while.

_You couldn't have known._

Weisshaupt had felt baleful, a bastion of hopelessness and secrets darker than the Deep Roads. She had hated every second she had spent there, itching to return. Her blood and buzzed and burned within those halls, and something still scratched beneath the surface. Only the situation at hand kept it at bay, but it wouldn't be long.

_Bad things happen, 'Lis. You can't stop them all._

Elissa slipped back out into the night air, suddenly desperate for air not laden with incense and mumbled words. Her back hit the cold stone of the Vigil's outer wall as she sunk to the ground, staring without seeing into the gloom ahead. There's nothing but emptiness, ahead and within.

_You're the strongest person I know. We can make it through this._

It's coming for her, she knows. It comes for everyone, in one shade or another. Something, someone out there will do what the Archdemon, what the Mother and Architect and Howe and Loghain and countless scores of Darkspawn had failed to do. Death is chasing her, whispering softly in tune to the traitorously steady beating of her heart.

_Soon_ , the song promises, _soon it will be your turn_.

Behind her, on the other side of the walls, burn the last embers of funeral pyres. Even in the dark she can see their faces clearly, knows which names have to be immortalized in her journals; Clara. Samuel. Floria. Harold. Lucas. Jace. Klaus. Nevin. Lara.

Devi.

Barkspawn's howl is a piercing, melancholy sound in the blackness, and she wishes she could join him.


	51. Want It All Or Not At All

**9:34 Dragon, Wintermarch**

 

"You have to."

"You have no intention of doing so, why should I?"

"One of us has to."

"And I have to be the one because?"

"You're younger."

"I'm stronger."

"I'm the Teyrn."

"I'm the Arlessa and Commander of the Grey."

"You're impossible!"

"And the Hero of Fereldan, by all accounts. So if you want it done, do it yourself."

He's not even sure what this argument is about any more. It had started over something Anora had wanted, of that he's certain but he had been watching the two Couslands bicker back and forth for the better part of an hour and he's no longer certain it's about the same thing.

It had taken some convincing, to get her here. Alistair had seen her falter before, seen her hesitate and need a moment to steel herself. He hadn't expected her to need one standing in front of her childhood home. He knew the full story, knew the list of names Elissa had lost that day, but to see how it affected her still...

Barkspawn had nudged him into her and he had laughed awkwardly, slipping his hand into hers. It had been enough to break the moment, and she had forged ahead.

There were still moments her concentration would lapse and she would pause, gaze fixed on something no one else could see. He wondered if she was remembering flames, bloodstains, bodies in those moments. He wondered if there was anything more he could do than be here with her.

Fergus didn't seem to share his sisters problem as he had documented the revival of Castle Cousland by his hands. The only rooms he had completely gutted in the end had been the living quarters, and he can see some of the tension leave her when Elissa sees the changes. They're enough to erase some of the horrors of that night and for that, Alistair silently thanks Fergus and his stonemasons.

She's distracting herself by arguing with her brother, though. It started with little things; he picked a terrible colour for the walls; his taste in rugs is atrocious; he should be using the good crystalware for his sister. It's moved on to bigger issues with Highever and Amaranthine, politics and all the things Alistair had never been taught like they had.

For the best, he reasoned. He had no interest in overseeing a farm, never mind enough of them to fill an arling, a teyrnir. And he had never been good at diplomacy, but Elissa...

She's triumphant without being smug as Fergus concedes to her finally with a hefty sigh. "How do you do that, Pup? Even mother wasn't as good at arguing."

There's a slight wrinkle in her brow when he utters the old nickname but it faded as she directed her attention to the restored painting hanging above the mantle. Her parents gazed back at the three of them, little versions of Fergus and Elissa equally unblinking between them. She shrugged, flicking her focus to Alistair. "She never tried convincing Nan to give up her lamb stew recipe." Barkspawn perked up at the mention of food and she laughed, excusing herself and the hound from the hall.

An awkward silence settled between the two men for a moment as they regarded each other. Most of the jokes he thought of to diffuse the tension seemed utterly inappropriate given what Howe had done to their family and he laughed mostly to himself when he finally managed to blurt out "I'm really glad you didn't throw a party to celebrate us coming. I still owe Elissa a Remigold and I left all my pretty dresses back at the Vigil."

Fergus raised an eyebrow at the confession and something dark flitted behind his eyes. They were more blue than his sisters, less steel and more ocean Alistair noted, swallowing back the clumsy explanation of his joke. "I'm sure the chance will arise at some point. She's more than patient."

There's a weight to those words that Alistair grins past. "Not when there are Darkspawn about. 'Lis is all action when it comes to it."

"At least one of you is, then."

No avoiding it, it seems. He meets the older mans gaze as best he can, relived to find it somewhat easier than meeting Elissa's when she makes her mind up about something. "She punched me, you know. Knocked me right off my feet so I wouldn't go charging after her to kill the Archdemon. That's the kind of person your sister is. Some might think she's a glory hog, but she did it because she thought if one of us was going to die, it shouldn't be me. So no, I leave all the actioning to her, thank you very much."

"You're afraid she'll punch you again?" There's a smile hiding in the depths of Fergus' gaze, threatening to break through if Alistair negotiates the waves carefully.

"Terrified she won't, actually," he shot back. Fergus hummed thoughtfully and turned his attention back to the portrait. His younger self stared back at the two of them, his gaze almost reproachful. Alistair cleared his throat. "I would do anything for her, I hope you know that."

"That was more than apparent the first time we met," the young Teyrn laughed finally, glancing back at the Grey Warden. "I always wondered what it would take for her to fall in love. Turns out it all it took was a little Blight."

"Oh," he coloured slightly, unable to hide his embarrassment. It had never been a secret, of course, and it wasn't like he had deliberately _avoided_ bringing the topic up around Fergus the few times they had seen each other... "You know how it is, all that doom and gloom and sleeping on cold dirt and endless fighting, really sets the mood for romance."

"Clearly," he laughed again, shaking his head. "I support it, for what it's worth. And I know a silversmith of unparalleled skill." It's there again, the weight in the words. There's an image Alistair has held onto since Eamon put the blasted idea in his head and the barely hidden suggestion in Fergus' words remind him of it.

Only it's not the same, not since he saw her in Warden blue. Sure, she could wear white, and stand at the altar with him, but _blue_ is what she belongs in. They both do. It's the only vow either of them can ever make.

...Isn't it?

They're still staring at the portrait in silence when Elissa and Barkspawn return.


	52. Even As You Fall Apart

**9:41 Dragon, Firstfall**

 

Elissa was sitting on the hard, cold ground of the Chantry garden, lost in herself and thoughts of roses when a soft voice interrupted her melancholy, her reverie. It quietly shattered the fragile silence she had managed to weave for herself amidst the bustle of Skyhold and pulled her back to reality.

"He went into darkness, unafraid. The hawk and fox trembled, but the puppy stood, remembering. Pup was brave, so brave, facing demons and dragons and dark things, he wanted to be brave too."

Flint eyes tried to find a matching pair to gaze at but were rebuffed by a ridiculous hat. Barkspawn looked up at her curiously then returned his head to rest to his front paws, his attention fixed on the presence of a bumblebee flitting among the various flowers. The words resonated in her head, but the person in front of her didn't seem to be aware she was there despite the fact that he was addressing her directly.

"He cried for the Wardens, but it was one, you, only you he called to. He was sorry to go on ahead when he should have waited. He knew you'd be mad, you always get mad, but he had to stay and fight."

She stiffened, a growl lodged in her throat, a snarl waiting to give birth to a scream. "How dare you-"

"You knew someone like me, once, twice. You called them friend without judgement. Helped her fulfill her dying wish and continue. Helped him be more than just an ideal for a time. I want to be more. They make me feel more, even when I can't help. Why does the dog call him cheese breeches?"

The scream died, swallowed. She tried to place the strange boy, a vague recollection of something, somewhen. If Barkspawn is not bothered by his presence then she knows she should not be. But - "You're a spirit? Like the one that helped Wynne, like Justice?"

"Yes. Trapped in the dark. I tried to help, and then I was stuck. I just wanted to help. Can I help you now?"

The snarl, the growl, the acid in her voice returned, and her gaze hardened once more. She still couldn't see the boy's face. "I doubt it." She does not need pity, more kind thoughts and apologies and _I can't even imagine how you feel_. Her heart is gone; all she needs is the Inquisitor to grant her request. She is quite done being weighed and questioned by the inhabitants of Skyhold.

"But you hurt."

Three little words still her again, and she could feel the telltale pinpricks in the corner of her eyes. There are none in the garden, but she could smell roses and she bit her tongue to distract herself - physical pain to cover the emotional.

It worked, barely.

"I'm supposed to ask, but sometimes people are too loud. I just thought you might like to know, he thought of you. All the time, beneath the surface, you were, are everything, all the blue and silverite and steel he ever needed. He wanted nothing but you. I hope it helps."

Nails dug into her palms in another effort to keep the sting of salt at bay.

"He didn't know family before you and he didn't need another one after you. He gave you all of him that he could. You are home, always in his heart. He's never afraid when you're there."

Cole tilted his head, blue eyes catching hers for a moment before Barkspawn sneezed. Distracted, she turned to the hound and when she turned back the boy was gone and she was left alone to think on his words.


	53. Even When Nobody Else Believes

**9:41 Dragon, Kingsway**

 

_I found him._

Three little words, immortalized in ink. A spark of hope on a parchment scrap. Not it but him, and it's more than she had found before and that's _something_.

How she had managed to get them to him, he did not know. The raven messenger looked the same as all the rest he had ever seen but the seal was a griffon and laurel, unbroken, and the bird had been waiting for him at the campsite like it _knew_. He toyed with the idea that it did, that maybe a certain apostate from the Wilds was trying to make up for the past, but that notion died quickly when he considered how likely it was that Morrigan would have a hand in doing something _nice_ for him.

The only other shapeshifter he could think of that would help Elissa wouldn't waste her energy on being a raven, so Flemeth was out too.

It was a bit of a letdown, three little words when she had so recently managed a whole letter to him and one for the Inquisitor too, but he's not selfish. Not really. Only a little. It's only natural though, surely. So long apart, and all he gets is this little reminder she's been off looking for someone else.

And of all the people to be looking for-

No, no. Alistair Theirin will not add _jealous_ to the list of stupid emotions he is feeling over those three words.

Besides, those three words mean that part of her self-assigned mission is over. Job done, duty finished. She could come home, couldn't she? If she found _him_ , she could find _anything_. He already knew she could _do_ anything. It's only three words, but he reads so much more into it as he shakes sand out of his boot.

He sees the steady penmanship and knows she found time to rest. He sees the drop of ink, a small indication of hesitation, the suggestion of other words she had wished she could write. He sees the rough edge of the paper where it had been separated from a larger sheet, as if haste had been a necessity in the delivery.

He sees _her_ , quill scratching those precious letters out into immortality, a soft expression on her face as she does so. The inclusion of the _him_ her search had lead to more than ruins the thought, though, and his nose wrinkled in irritation as he gave his boot another shake.

Wherever she is, what ever she's doing, he hopes she doesn't have to deal with sand creeping into every nook and cranny. And he hopes, he _hopes_ she's safe, that she's well, that she's staring up at the sky and thinking of him right now, right _bloody_ now, thinking of him with a smile on her face.

He hopes it won't be long before she's back in his arms, home at last, no more things to find and no more things to fight and no more song in their heads.

Maker, but he hopes.


	54. There Ain't A Bitter Place That I Haven't Been

**9:41 Dragon, Drakonis**

 

_Selfish, selfish little girl._

It's a thought she's had herself, and her gaze is steel steady. Her hands are steady too, despite the cold creeping into the air around her.

_You make your choices without concern for the consequences you force on others._

Vigilance is warm in her grasp, the dragonbone smooth in her leather glove. The left hand holds a Warden shortsword, sharp and raised.

_You only do what benefits you. Selfish, **selfish** child._

This one won't help her, she knows. They never do; they never can. All they ever do is pick and pry, reaching deep to find a weakness. All they ever find is steel and flint.

_You would set fire to the world if it suited you._

Elissa closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. With the exhale she opened them, spinning the shortsword in her hand absentmindedly before raising it again. "Would I?" She doesn't expect an honest answer, just more barbs trying to force their way through her armor.

The demon laughed, a low guttural sound as it slid from side to side in front of her. _You would burn everything down in the name of honour, of love. **Selfish.**_

At least it's not a desire demon. They never even come close to scratching below the surface, fixating instead on power she does not want, influence she does not need. Even when they try to use Alistair to motivate her it's clumsy. It's never him, always something amiss, some small detail that doesn't work. Rage demons are easy, as anger is something she's long known how to control. Sloth demons have never given her trouble since Kinloch. Pride and fear, terror and hunger, these are all emotions she has learned to temper. Time has taught her many lessons she never thought she would have to learn.

Time has seen her in many places she never dreamed her feet would tread, least of all as far from Fereldan as she is now.

Time has made her hard as stone, sharp as steel.

_It won't matter in the end. Human lives are so fleeting, so... Fragile. Everyone will burn with you until only ashes are left, and even they will be blown away before long._

Foolish, selfish girl. She knows those thoughts intimately. Her foot scraped against the hard ground as she shifted her weight, gaze never wavering. Let the demon dig, let it shine light on the things that keep her awake at night. Not even despair can hold her back. Not now; not ever.

Not even with the Calling humming in her mind.

"It doesn't matter how far I run, how loud I scream, how hard I swing my sword. The end is coming for us all and no matter what I do, I cannot save them. We all fall eventually." Elissa sighed, twirling both swords in unison and shrugging her shoulders. "Right? I may have heard this speech before."

The demon laughed again, its whole body shivering with the action, the air shimmering around it. _Your fight is meaningless, little Warden. We are not your enemy. Lay down your weapons._

She cracked a smile at that, fingers flexing over the hilt of her swords. They never learn.

Elissa left the ruins not long after the fight, the early morning sun doing little to shake the chill from her bones. Barkspawn huffed softy as he stirred to life, relieved from watch from the entranceway. He sniffed her over, satisfying himself that she was unharmed enough not to warrant further investigation. His whine for attention was happily responded to and Elissa scratched behind the warhounds ears with a sigh. "Another dead end, boy. More demons, no answers, no clues."

Barkspawn simply panted, leaning into his Lady's side, ready to continue the hunt.


	55. When I Watch The World Burn, All I Think About Is You

**9:36 Dragon, Cloudreach**

 

He loves her bathed in light. Any light at all will do; fire, candle, sun, magefire. It always illuminates her perfectly, catches and gleams and radiates all without ever blinding.

He loves her dressed in blue; Warden blue, the armor she should have been gifted at Ostagar. It softens and highlights the flint of her eyes.

He loves her decked in silver, but not in gold. She deserves both of course but silverite makes her shine twice as bright, twinkles and dazzles like her smile. Silver is better.

He loves her wrapped in furs, the blue and silver discarded where he threw it in his haste to feel her skin on his again. His own armor lies in equal disarray in the confines of their tent, but he can't bring himself to mind. Not when he loves her so.

Her breath tickled against his neck as Elissa nuzzled into his warmth, limbs heavy with sleep but determined to hold him. It drew a low chuckle from him as he watched light and shadow play across the canvas surrounding them, listened to the fire pop and hiss outside. A soft cough is all the reminder Alistair needs that he should feel shame for taking time to be selfish with the Warden Commander, but neither had the watch tonight and there's no secret that stays quiet for long in camp. Not that it had ever been a secret. Not that she ever cares about keeping him quiet if they don't have to.

They aren't in the Deep Roads; they don't have to.

Besides, he rationalised to himself, it had been three weeks and several Darkspawn patrols since they had been together in any capacity. And the idea of putting up his own tent when hers was already warm and waiting, well...

A discontent huff had him laughing to himself again; Barkspawn clearly very unimpressed with being removed from the sleeping furs and forced to find a spot by the fire with the watch. But again, he can't bring himself to mind, not when Elissa's finger is pressing itself to his mouth as she mumbled out a _hush_. Her lips ghosted over his skin with the word, drawing goosebumps and a shiver from him despite the cosiness of the tents interior.

She nuzzled closer still, fingers slipping across his cheek to tilt his face down towards her. A sleepy question got lost in the rustle of the furs as he shifted his whole body towards her, and her eyes slipped open to meet his in the absence of his response.

His breath caught for a moment, wishing time would stop for the pair of them. If they could lay forever here, with no cares or duties to attend to, would that really be so bad? To fill lazy, endless days surrounded by her? But they made a vow, his then hers; _In Peace, Vigilance_. There's no room for what ifs and wishes. They can only take what they can and even if it won't ever be enough, it's more than he ever thought he would get. He smiled widely as he banished the thoughts of a future divergent, an eyebrow raised in question.

Alistair's grin is contagious it seems, and it's mirrored on her face in the dimly lit tent as she gazed up at him. "Trouble sleeping, my king?"

Oh, he abhors that nickname, and she _knows_. She only ever uses it teasingly, when she knows she can get away with the jest. When she knows what it will lead to. He grunted to the negative without losing his smile as he rolled the both of them over, keeping his weight off her but their bodies close as he settled above her. His skin on hers; hers on his. A small, selfish thing that's all his and hers and theirs alone.

"What's keeping you up, then?" Her voice is thick with sleep yet, though he's not sure if she's waking or barely drifted off. A small pang of regret is all he allowed himself for disturbing her one way or another, and he pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks, taking delight in the contented sigh she offered in return.

"Just enjoying the moment, my dear." He kept his voice low, shifting enough to free his right hand to brush away errant strands of her dark hair from her face. Her eyes slipped closed at the touch, her own hands coming to rest at his sides.

Not even the dusky light filling the interior of their tent could hide the mischief in her flint blue eyes when they opened again. Alistair only had a few seconds to react before she dug her fingers in, pulling their bodies flush, and it's all he could do to spare her the full weight of himself as she brought a leg across his to trap him in a hold. The furs tangled up around them as she captured him with a kiss that somehow managed to be both hungry and drowsy. His gruff exhalation of _Maker's breath_ was met with a wicked chuckle and he knew instantly there was no way the Commander of the Grey planned on trying to sleep again any time soon.

What's a poor soldier to do but follow her orders in that situation, then?


	56. I Always Saw You Reaching And Catching Stars

**9:32 Dragon, Kingsway**

 

"Does he truly not understand what they want from him?"

Her eyes flicked up to follow the Warden Commander's as they drifted from the parchment in her hands to the elf who had spoken, then across the room. Two ladies-in-waiting stood idly, giggling and smiling at a rather bemused Grey Warden with a King's nose who seemed completely out of his element. For a brief moment she let herself regret insisting on the opulence of the throne room rather than the seclusion of the Queen's office but her hard gaze on the young ladies had the intended effect once they noticed the weight of it on them. They always had been impressionable things, those girls, trailing after their King as he spun them epic stories of his bravery. But to their credit they had always balked in the presence of their betters; hers most of all.

Her eyes traveled back to the Warden Commander as the woman broke into a smile far kinder than Anora expected her to be capable of. Then again, the Cousland scion had always defied expectations, hadn't she? Anora had no intention of underestimating her the way her own beloved father had. His distrust of Orlais may have been his unraveling, but she can never forgive the woman at her side for not finding another path, another option besides the executioners sword. Another man to wield that blade, at least.

But the two of them seemed stuck in a tangled web of interconnected strands, constantly finding themselves across from each other for one reason or another. Her own smile is far less kind as she cleared her throat, holding a satin-clad hand out for the scroll. "I was under the impression you wanted this dealt with with some measure of rapidity," she spoke clearly, well versed in hiding the irritation she felt.

Contrition is an expression all women learn from birth, and Elissa's face was a perfect reminder of how effective her own tutors had been. There were no cracks in the Grey Warden's expression as she passed the parchment over, careful not to touch the costly fabric with her own leather covered hands with the act. No; the Couslands taught their daughter well and not for the first time Anora felt a twinge of fear for what her former equal is capable of.

This is a woman who united a country torn apart by civil war where the Queen could not; who saved mages and elves and Arl Guerrin as if it had been as simple as hosting a luncheon; who had a hand in choosing the Dwarven king and could have seen herself on the very same velvet and fur where Anora resided now. Let the people cheer her name for the defeat of the Archdemon and think of the dark haired beauty fondly; she does not have to keep the country together in the aftermath of all those grand adventures.

It's a surprise, in retrospect, that this great hero of the Grey Wardens and her former husband had not been closer friends. From where she sits enshrined atop the dais it would seem the pair shared a penchant for not fully comprehending the consequences of their actions. Oh, sure, Elissa has done a splendid job of governing the Arling of Amarathine in the aftermath of the Blight; but anything less from a Teryn's daughter would not have been tolerated. And certainly, she performs the duties of her station as Commander of the Grey with all the grace and tact of a shrewd diplomatist. But Fereldan is more than just one arling, needs defending by more than just a ragtag band of warriors gathered under a banner from the Anderfels. It needs it's Queen, and there could be no one else but her at the head of state.

Though _that_ decision had been a shade too close for comfort; more than one dissenting voice at the Landsmeet had called for her dethronement in favour of the royal bastard and his beloved Lady of Highever.

Still, that was now the past and Fereldan and the monarchy must look to the future, even at the cost of of repairing someone else's mistake. The elf cheerfully supplied her a writing board and feathered quill, the nib glistening with a dark blob of fresh ink, and she smoothed the paper out, signing her name with all the flourish a queen was worthy of. The Howe boy had already signed the document a few days past on his fathers behalf and she blotted her signature carefully as the ink darkened to match his. A shame they had not brought him to stand in front of her with them; she would have liked to hear from his own mouth why he felt the need to pay for the sins of his father by aiding the very same woman who had murdered him.

Such thoughts are not worthwhile for a queen, though. Her gaze flickered over to the other Grey Warden as she waited for the elf to pour wax for her seal, and instantly regretted the slip as he grinned wolfishly. "It's a pity, you know. Wasting two such fine specimens on each other as they do. Alistair alone could make a killing in the Free Marches soothing poor Fereldan refugees souls."

Both women regarded each other carefully before Elissa burst out laughing, shaking her head. The action caused loose strands of hair to escape the imperfect bun perched atop her head, and Anora watched curiously as she waved them and the comment aside with ease. "Assuming you managed to get him to step foot in one of those places, Zevran, I think he'd simply pass out from all the blushing." Her tone is light, and the flint in her eyes softened as they glanced over at the other Warden again.

The ladies-in-waiting had taken the earlier warning to heart and left him alone and he stood awkwardly now, one hand resting where his sword should be at his waist and the other flexing in an unconscious display of discomfort at his side. She takes no pleasure in his inclusion today, nor does she resent his presence. He's an uncomfortable reminder of his half brother in some lights and a harsh reminder of her fathers fate in others but right now, all she sees is a fool in love with a woman who could destroy the nation with a careless word.

Void take her if she had ever looked so witless around Cailen. But she cannot fault Elissa for finding comfort with the man. He has enough of his fathers features to be handsome in the way all Theirin men are, and there's a certain charm to the lopsided grin he shoots the Warden Commander, Anora will give her that. If the choice had been given more weight, it wouldn't have been the worst thing entering into another marriage of convenience to keep a Theirin-by-blood on the throne. He clearly has redeeming qualities, and more battle prowess than his half brother. And it wouldn't be the first time she had been the voice behind the king, had it come to it.

Still, this was better. He reaffirmed that she is the true monarch every time she demanded it of him to settle the rumbles of the Banns and Arls, and follows his Commander with the same puppy-like obedience that his brother had followed Anora with. It's both a comfort and an agitation, and she let the emotions go with a hard press of her seal into the pliant red wax, the last official touch finalising the document and bringing the business to a close at last.

"That's a relief," Elissa chuckled as Zevran carefully rolled the scroll up after testing the wax to ensure it had dried enough, and placed it into a carrying tube. "Varel was getting very tired with having to change the carpets so often."

"Those young ones," the Antivan sighed as he offered an overly exaggerated shrug. "Tilting at dragon slayers in an attempt to make a name for themselves. You'd think they'd realise it's far better to be your friend, my most precious Warden."

She smiled again at the flirtatious comment, to Anora's further surprise. Her whole face had softened with the act into something genuine, so unlike the usual vipers of the court, that the queen couldn't help but find it unsettling as the two discussed his travel plans back to Antiva. Though she knew nothing personal of the man beyond his bond with the two Wardens, she knew _what_ he was. She had recognised him, slipping from the hall with a cocky grin and a purse jangling in his hands as her father and Howe had attempted to bring order to the chaos that surrounded Cailen's death. Yes; she had remembered his face when she saw it again at Eamon's Denerim estate, though she had kept herself busy with finding a way to keep Elissa aligned with her wants at the time to dwell on what his presence had meant then.

She had never had any dealings of her own with the Antivan Crows before today, though. Few in Fereldan ever did, at least officially. And this, a simple annulment of a contract taken out by men long dead, is more than she ever wanted to have to suffer through with people of such repute. It's an imposition, an uncomfortable reed stay needling into her skin, a favour that wasn't hers to owe, but here they are, done and dealt with the whole ridiculous thing in relative short order. Anora had laughed openly when they had informed her as to the purpose of their visit to the capital with an assassin in tow, but her mirth had faded quickly under the steel hard expression that had the Queen wondering if she was stood in front of the Warden Commander or the statue her people had insisted erected in the rebuilt marketplace.

It was almost as if the Lady Cousland was two different people; the Hero and the Woman. But _that_ would mean acknowledging that she too, had different faces for different people and one she would wear no more in the wake of her husband's death. A subtle shake of her head cleared it as she regarded the two in front of her once more. The conversation had moved on without her input or following, and a small frown of confusion settled across her brow as Zevran laughed, his hands flitting over the tightly fitted leather jerkin he wore. "Soggy bedrolls, perhaps?"

"Stale hardtack for breakfast for the third day in a row."

There's mischief in the elf's eyes as he makes a thoughtful noise before responding. "Mud in your toiletries."

"A single, tiny hole in your boots that evades detection until you are knee deep in a swamp," Elissa shot back without missing a beat, her eyes flicking from the Queen to her fellow Warden in silent challenge. It always came to that, inevitably, the unspoken understanding that their amicable facades depended largely on Anora leaving Alistair to be Alistair; Lady Cousland was more than protective of the almost-monarch to the point it sickened her, truly.

"Darkspawn gunk in your hair," Zevran uttered jovially, his own eyes not leaving Anora as if attempting to peer into her mind. It speaks volumes to his character, that he has not once shown his back to her during this whole exchange, she thinks.

" _Abomination_ gunk in your smallclothes."

"Ugh, I had forgotten that," Alistair shuddered, an easy smile on his face as he wandered over to the small gathering at last, his voice drawing Anora's attention fully to the trio for better or worse. No doubt he was hopeful that with the scroll being signed, their departure was imminent. In his defense, she held a similar view. "Took weeks to recover from that, even with Wynne's help. What are we playing, things that smell worse than Oghren?"

He's drawn to his Lady as the Queen watches, his sword hand reaching to claim some small touch from the Commander of the Grey. She obliged him without hesitation, their hands intertwining like some magnetic force was at play, and Anora lifted her gaze to the stained glass windows above them rather than the lovers. Let them have each other in the Void. She knows full well if Eamon had gotten his way she'd be locked away in a tower somewhere while the two faltered in their duties as monarchs and Wardens. Never mind that the Crown is no friend to love, well she knows.

Still, her mood softened slightly at the thought of the cost any woman in power pays. And Lady Cousland had paid more than her fair share in blood and iron to stand here today, Anora would never deny that. She cleared her throat with a dismissive wave of white satin, bringing her attention back to the two Wardens and the assassin and away from more maudlin thoughts. "If we are quite done? I have other business to attend to."

"Of course, Your Grace. I will return to Antiva with the utmost haste and ensure we need never trouble you about this again." Zevran offered a bow and a cheeky smile as he backed away, reserving a wink towards his friends before he turned on his heel and marched from the throne room at last. She couldn't be sure that his exaggerated swagger was on purpose for his audience, but the muted and decidedly unladylike snort-giggle from Elissa at his departure had her convinced that it was more than a little for show.

"We will get out of your way as well, Your Highness. We appreciate your assistance in this matter," all grace and nobility with the smallest tilt of her head in place of a curtsy, Elissa Cousland reclaimed her hand from Alistair's, leaving him to offer a clumsy salute in an attempt at etiquette. Anora watched them stride from the great hall, Commander and subordinate, master and pup, Lady and bastard and yet two souls absolutely  _free_ to care for each other without constraint of station. She squashed the spark of jealousy under the weight of her crown and turned her thoughts back to Fereldan and the needs of its people. She would never let her father's mistakes define her rule. She loved her nation and all who called it home.

Even those two Grey Wardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anora headspace is... complicated. At times I actually feel for her but since Cousland is and always will be my canon Warden, the absolute tragedy of that Origin line hits me harder. This wasn't supposed to be from her viewpoint and in fact was ready to go much MUCH earlier, but something kept me dissatisfied with it until a little something wriggled it's way in and I wound up ripping out and redoing almost everything but the dialogue. So here's something a little different. /shrug
> 
> Up next, some cuteness? Maybe? Needs more editing, so knowing my luck that will turn it all into a disaster. /fingers crossed for more cute, less disaster
> 
> (But come on, you already know where this is going, right? ...right?)


	57. You Are The Sun And I Am Just The Planets Spinning Around You

**9:30 Dragon, Justinian**

 

Leliana thumbed through the crinkled vellum pages of the tome she had bartered from Bodhan, her lips moving in time with the words she read. She kept the pages turned to the fire as the evening darkened around them, illuminating the dark ink contained within. Alistair watched curiously from the other side of the campfire, halfheartedly tending to what was optimistically being considered dinner, and Morrigan was off elsewhere, no doubt sulking and skulking with witchy things to do. Bodhan and his boy had already retired for the evening, and Sten had grunted something before disappearing with the dog, leaving just the three of them in the little camp - if it could be considered as such, a handful of canvas tarps thrown over precariously placed stakes and threadbare blankets to ward off the chill offered by the Fereldan evening despite the promised approach of summer. The oncoming night was made all the cooler by the thick cloud cover that threatened a deluge in short order and though he knew it was there in the distance, it was hard to make out the jut of Kinloch rending into the sky. He pulled his gaze from lay sister to the Warden at his side with a wry smile, still unsure what good leather and parchment would do them when they barely had food or other supplies, never mind the coin to secure any, but her own attention was intent on the sword in her hands as she carefully sharpened the blade.

The rustle of vellum and a soft noise brought his focus back across the fire, and Leliana started to tap out a beat. The gnarled and ancient log she had chosen as both seat and instrument muffled the steady rhythm, but didn't deter her pace. With a few bars behind the redhead tested the melody with a low hum, and at his side Elissa tightened her grip on the swords pommel. He didn't recognise the tune, though he could place it as a sea shanty, and he slowly stirred the mysterious concoction in front of him so as not to disturb Leliana's focus. For the few nights they had shared a campsite together after Lothering, the sister had shown a desire to lighten the otherwise somber mood with stories and song; it appeared that even if her audience was only the two young Wardens content with silence she was intent to continue the practice.

_The lion's ships were Denerim bound_  
_Oh, drop him, Lady, drop him!  
__Let the true king’s call for aid resound_

Caught off guard by the jaunty tune, he didn't notice the way Elissa stiffened, flint blue eyes sparking golden as her head jerked up to stare at the lay sister across the flames. He almost slipped from his perch at the stew pot as the harmony came from his left and Alistair could feel his jaw hang uselessly open as the song traded voices.

_Just drop him, Lady, drop him!_  
_A soldier lad from the army came_  
_Oh, drop him, Lady, drop him!_

Leliana matched his surprised expression, the two sharing confusion as they slowly turned to the third member of their little gathering. Sensing the shift, Elissa fell silent with a purse of her lips, drawing herself back to the blade resting on her lap.

"How lovely! You know this song?" Leliana broke the quiet with her soft Orlesian accent, leaning further into the light spilling from the campfire. It set the sisters red hair alight, a bright beacon to draw the eye, but even that couldn't sway Alistair from staring at the darker haired woman beside him. Forced into relative closeness by their unavoidable circumstances, he'd seen in her many moods and many lights in the brief time since he'd met her at Ostagar, but this was a new one. Equally inescapable was this new notion that the lady could _sing_.

She huffed in response, flicking her eyes from one to the other then back to her sword, her fingers running over the leather bindings on the grip. They were frayed and tarnished with age and sweat, worn by hand much larger than hers. "The Soldier and the Seawolf," she muttered finally, straightening her back as she raised her head at last to match their questioning looks. "It was written during the occupation."

"Do much pirating as a child, my lady?" The words slipped out easily, spoken in jest in an attempt to keep the tone of their conversation light when so many of them had recently degenerated into spats and arguments over what to do with Darkspawn on their heels and Loghain rallying the country against them, not a single one in agreement as to their path but only that they would do what the Wardens thought best - which meant what Elissa thought best, since Alistair was typically quick to capitulate to her.

A gentle smile graced her features as she shook her head, absently tracing the engraving on the pommel; Cousland laurels in copper tones. "Not as much as my mother, if the song gives any indication."

"The Teyrna of Highever?" he gasped incredulously, holding a hand to his heart. "Say it isn't so!"

Leliana had set her book aside to join them, settling onto the log-turned-bench Sten had dragged over hours past for Elissa to use. Clearly not sharing Alistair's hard learned, finger-rapping lessons not to touch nobility for any reason, the sister lay a comforting hand on the Warden's shoulder, nimble fingers brushing aside strands of dark brown hair as she did so. Elissa had tied her hair back with a simple leather thong to keep it out of the way of her work on the sword and the rest of it dangled across her back, sweeping across her shoulder blades as she inclined her head in thanks. "Does that make you the Seacub?" Leliana giggled, and Alistair hated her a little for beating him to the obvious joke. Distracting himself, he turned his attention to the goopy mess he still optimistically considered stew.

"She never told us about her time on the Mistral, don't misunderstand. But my father and the court had no such reservations - there are many tales about the fearsome Eleanor Mac Eanraig and all my father had to do to win her attentions." Her smile had turned wistful, the edges already pulling down by the weight of a sadness Alistair could well understand in his own way. "Ser Cadoc, the old master-at-arms for my family, took great pleasure in teaching Fergus and I the shanty, though my mother would never let us perform it. She preferred I stick to my harp lessons than learn songs from the soldiers." Something bitter stirred in his chest as his attention wandered from the pot back to his fellow Warden. There were cracks forming in the proud mask of a noble displaced, and she struggled to patch them as she looked back to her family blade.

Not for the first time, he reflected on the fact that it wasn't weighted for her use, the longsword better served in combination with a shield than the second blade she favoured. Still, she clung to the steel, keeping it bright and sharp. Leliana leaned into her with a practiced ease that he doubted he would ever possess, even if Isolde hadn't ensured he never think he was worthy of a comfortable sort of friendship like the one blossoming in front of him. He tried to follow the conversation as Leliana carried it but found himself drifting in and out, at a loss to find common ground with them as they talked about music. All he knew were working songs from the fields and marching cadences, and he had no desire to embarrass himself in front of the two ladies more than he did usually.

A wet splat that hit him squarely on the nose was all the warning he got of the front that had threatened all day breaking and the wind picked up sharply as more fat drops of water began to pelt their camp. Leliana squealed in outrage as she rushed to save her book and other possessions from the turbulent weather, and Elissa was quick to grab her scabbard, sheathing the longsword with a grace that even some of the most practiced Templars he had known lacked. He himself struggled to save their dinner as the fire spat and fizzled in protest to the onslaught, only glancing up once the pot had been securely covered in time to see a brown blur streak past him, barreling into Elissa and knocking her back into a rapidly forming puddle. She swore fiercely as Sten ambled into view, his face impassive as he took up a vigil under the only canvas tarp that had any height to it.

Alistair clambered to his feet carefully as the rain continued, offering a hand to his fallen comrade. "Bloody massive arse," she grumbled, trying to shove the heavyset mabari from her lap to accept it. Before he could help it he was laughing at her misfortune, and she was quick to grab his hand and pull him towards her rather than anchor herself to stand. He fell into the squelching muck with a lopsided grin as Barkspawn rolled between the two of them, tongue lolling from his mouth as he bared his stomach to the elements.

"What was that for?"

"For being an equally massive arse and laughing," she shot back, hauling herself out of the spreading puddle and trying to wipe the mud off her legs. Alistair chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender as she flicked some of it in his direction. "Aren't you going to get out of the rain?"

"Absolutely, my lady," he beamed, sparing a moment to scratch Barkspawn's belly before rising. When he looked over she had her back to him, safely tucking the Cousland blade under the scant protection of one of the tarps. She whistled without turning and the hound chuffed happily, shaking vigorously as he leapt to his feet, pelting Alistair with the cast off before he padded over to slip under the tarp. With a happy bark and a shake of his stubby tail he claimed a spot near the entrance flap to stretch out in, head coming to rest on his massive paws as he stared at Alistair, still out in the deluge.

He stuck his tongue out at the dog before gathering his own things, glad for the small blessing that was a well waxed travel cloak he had stashed under the covering he had claimed for himself earlier in the evening. It did nothing to help with the water that had already snuck under his mail but at least he wouldn't get wetter as he went through the motions of camps dogsbody. Hopefully the rain would deter any would be attackers for the night; he hated the notion that he could go down in history as the idiot who drowned in a storm and had shed the damp layers of metal in an attempt to preserve some body heat. The fire struggled as he saved what he could of their meal, stacking the bowls precariously atop each other so only the top one would suffer the rain as he moved from precarious shelter to precarious shelter. Leliana graced him with an appreciative smile and a few words of thanks, and Sten merely grunted out a Qunari word that could have been a curse for all Alistair knew.

Barkspawns stubby tail thumped out a welcoming beat as he approached Elissa's excuse for a tent and she turned her attention to the Warden as he knelt down in the small opening, an apology already on his tongue. "Er, knock knock? Sorry for the interruption," he blurted out, amber eyes focusing on the polishing rag in her hand in an attempt to avoid noticing that she too had shed her breastplate and that though no less muddy, she had managed to exchange her breeches for ones that were dry. A lone candle flickered and and threatened to blow out in the breeze his presence created, casting sharp shadows around them as she passed her eyes over the Warden and his cargo.

A wry smile passed her lips before she could stop it, and she waved him inside the cramped quarters with a spark of amusement in her tone. "I thought you were going to get dry like the rest of us?"

"But then who would deliver this delicious meal to you?" he countered, pausing just far enough into her space that he could pull the hood off his head without fear of an errant raindrop finding him but not so far that the cloak would destroy the tarps attempts to keep this patch of ground dry or worse, extinguish the bravely glowing candle. "It would reflect badly on me if I let you starve in the interest of avoiding a little rain, wouldn't it?" He slipped the bottom bowl free carefully, offering it up to her with an easy grin that broadened when she accepted it with a small nod, setting aside her breastplate.

"Your sacrifice is noted, Ser Alistair, and appreciated." Elissa stirred the contents of the bowl with a thoughtful frown, clearly not convinced with his ringing endorsement of the food. It meant that she missed the furrow of his brow at the appellation she gave him, but she glanced up at the movement when he attempted to back out of the tent while keeping his own bowl safe from Barkspawn's questing - and drooling - mouth. " _Fàg e_ , you arse. And you, stay." Chastised, the hound whimpered, backing himself away from the two humans with a mournful face. Alistair blinked, freezing just long enough in the open elements without his hood pulled up that his hair started to plaster itself to his head. A heavy sigh escaped Elissa as she reached out to grab him by the arm, pulling him back into the relative safety that the thin canvas offered from the elements and she shrugged aside his confused look. "Your food is half water already, you might as well enjoy while it still has some warmth to it," she muttered in way of an explanation, her expression daring him to counter her as she threw an already damp blanket toward him for his hair.

Alistair scrubbed it over his head quickly to get the worst of the chill out while she watched, not sure what he would do if she ever _actually_ commanded him to do anything outside of battle. It's a thought he wants to pursue, but later. Alone, probably. That seemed safer than risking letting her know how much power she held over him with three simple words. Belatedly he realized the blanket was coated in a dusting of brown fur that could only belong to one culprit and he fought the urge to complain about the delightful new scent he was no doubt sporting. Even the Chantry mothers would be appalled with him and his inability to be anything but _common_ around the decidedly uncommon Lady Cousland. "What did you say to Barkspawn?" he questioned, not used to hearing the rough language she had used, and attempted to settle into a cross legged perch as best he could without encroaching on her space. It barely worked; there was so little room to start with and he silently cursed his large frame and the lack of better accommodation. Between him and the dog, he was amazed that the sorry excuse for a tent was holding. A quick mental inventory revealed nothing they could afford to part with would get them the coin for better tents in any short order and he decided instead to pay attention to his insistent dinner companion.

She had isolated a chunk of... something on her spoon and regarded it curiously before flicking her steely eyes to him. Oddly he found a comfort there, a strength and warmth in what could so easily be a cold expression if she so chose to wield it that way. "I told him to leave it. He's far too opportunistic for his own good." The hound had the good sense to whine in apology from his newly claimed spot, and she shook her head even as a smile wormed its way onto her face. Alistair took in the sight of her, damp and unarmored, tentative with her mystery stew and clearly not comfortable on the thin padding her bedroll offered from the hard dirt beneath them. His heart constricted with shame as he sipped from his own bowl, frowning slightly at the discovery that her observation had been right; the addition of rain had done nothing for the taste and only served to lower the temperature, making it imperative that he finish it sooner rather than later less it congeal into something even less appetizing that even the dog would reject.

"But what language was that?" he mumbled around hasty bites, determined to salvage the meal and get out of her way as soon as he could.

"The old Alamarri tongue," she shrugged, her shoulders sagging slightly in the aftermath of the movement. "We used it for battle commands with the hounds at Highever. I'm not sure what the Ash Warriors taught Barkspawn, but he responds well enough to it when I use it."

"He seems to handle Common well enough too, my lady," he offered before draining the last of his bowl. Hers was only half gone as she regarded him, and he found himself wringing his hands with a nervousness he hadn't felt since the last time he had stood in Redcliff's hall, Isolde staring down at him. She was quiet for a while, and only the constant pelt of rain on the canvas and Barkspawn's sleepy huffs kept the silence at bay before she spoke.

"I suppose you're right. And you can stop that, you know."

"Stop what - being right? I promise you, I make no practice of it." Alistair blinked, confused but keeping an easy smile in place. His fingers twitched and fiddled with the now empty bowl and spoon for something to do and he was surprised to discover just how close he had been sat next to her when she moved closer to the dog, maneuvering the candle safely with her to keep the poor flame from guttering out. Warmth quickly fled from the knee that seconds ago had been almost close enough to touch hers and in her absence he found himself wishing he could lean in the way Leliana had. Gritting his teeth he kept himself in check; so much for those hard earned lessons on his station in life if he's having thoughts like that.

"Castle Cousland was razed. I'm a lady of nothing but ruins." Barkspawn nuzzled into her side, his panted breath steaming in the close and suddenly too warm air of their shared enclosure. His brain screamed  _run_  but he didn't move, noting that her shoulders still sagged under the same weight that had a habit of making her smiles fade quicker than he liked them to.

He watched her slide a hand across the dogs damp fur, her nose wrinkling slightly at the feel of it. He could find it cute, if they were anywhere, anyone else. "You're a Teyrn's daughter," he countered at last, when the quiet threatened to swallow him. "Potentially the Teyrna yourself, once we sort out the rest of this mess. Why wouldn't I treat you accordingly?"

Her gaze slid to him then to the sword she had so carefully lain out of the rain's reach, and he saw defeat reflecting in their depths. "Even _if_ Highever can be reclaimed, I have no right to it as a Grey Warden. Even if I could go home, it's not mine any more."  _Alistair, you fool_ , he bitterly reprimanded himself as she set aside the remains of her meal for Barkspawn to claim. The wardog did so happily, oblivious to the tension surrounding his human companions. She had a point, an annoyingly  _good_ point. And he knew he hadn't been consistent in his treatment of her, either, at times forgetting the last name she carried and all that came with it in favour of the one thing they shared that after Ostagar, no one else in Fereldan did. It was all a mess, all of it, and he squirmed as she locked eyes with him again. "Besides, you outrank me."

He snorted at that thought, at the notion that he could ever,  _ever_ outrank anyone, least of all her. "That's terrifying, you know. And you've got far more experience, I've only been a Warden a few months longer than you - you were raised to lead. Didn't we already cover that bad things happen when I'm in charge?" He doesn't mention the Tower of Ishael as a prime example, not wanting to drag this conversation further down that path, not wanting to remember the fear he had felt in the aftermath, worrying that he would be alone, completely and utterly without Duncan or her. She had become important to him so quickly, every Warden precious for the sacrifice they make in the Joining, but her, the last Cousland, brave and resolute in the face of her losses where he did nothing but falter and flounder...

Elissa hummed in response, both hands wending their way into Barkspawn's fur. His stubby tail thumped happily as he leant into her, resting his massive head in her lap. "I believe you mentioned ending up pantsless?"

A grin overtook him before he could help it, watching the dog mostly and her out of the corner of his eye. "And that's not even the worst of it. Cheese stores get decimated, dresses get muddy, dogs run wild, we get hopelessly lost and probably die of exposure in embarrassing positions." He shrugged carelessly as some of the tension ebbed away, the barest hint of a smile ghosting across her face. "Of course, if you'd rather be off pirating, I'd understand." The spoon hit him squarely in the chest and he laughed off the impact as he surrendered, glad to see the ghost turn corporeal. "What?"

"Stop being an arse."

It's said so bluntly it made him laugh again. Isolde would be appalled at her manners and his, but that only made him enjoy the moment all the more. "Worried you wouldn't be any good at pillaging? Or do you just get really seasick?" he pressed, ready this time for the missile she made of the dog slobbered bowl. "Ooohh, that's your secret, isn't it?"

"I  _don't_ ," she scowled lightly at his jest, her head tilting to the side as the faint strain of plucked lute strings filtered across the waterlogged campsite, a melancholy refrain that suited the mood the rain had set though not the one he was attempting to cultivate in the tent. "You'll never know what my secrets are, Ser Alistair."

There's something there in the quirk of her lips and challenging stare that had his heart leaping in an attempt to free itself from his chest, and he could only shake his head, dislodging a few droplets of resilient rainwater from his hair and earning a grumpy snort from Barkspawn. "If I stop calling you my lady, you stop calling me  _Ser_. I was never a knight, and I'm not a Templar anymore. Never liked it when I was, either. Deal?"

For a moment there's nothing but the soft, muted sounds of the world moving around them; the  _pitter-patter_ of the rain, the distant music Leliana summoned from her tent, Barkspawn's heavy breath, the  _thud thud_ of his heart. Was hers beating as loud that she didn't feel the need to comment on it, he wondered, trying to read the expression on her face as the candle once again threatened to go out; Barkspawn exhaling a huff of air as he slipped off her lap to itch under his chin, utterly disinterested with whatever was going on with them. Eternity froze when she held her hand out to him and he was surprised by her grip when he finally offered his in return. He watched with rapt curiosity at the way her bare fingers wrapped around his leather glove as she shook his hand, warmth radiating from the touch all the way to his core even as the candle finally gave in to Barkspawn's movements. They both made irritated noises, though he couldn't tell if his was more for the loss of light or the new and unasked for knowledge of what it was to miss her touch. "You have a deal, Alistair."

He grinned stupidly at his fellow Warden, glad she couldn't see exactly how foolish he looked and relishing in the way his name sounded in the dark that blanketed them, her voice a thing of beauty - just like the rest of her.


End file.
